


Fire in My Soul

by squadrickchestopher



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Turned Into dragon, Crack Treated Seriously, Deaf Clint Barton, Doom is an asshole, Dragons, Established Relationship, Flirting, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magic, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Clint Barton, Sex Magic, Torture, because she so is, sex in a magic temple, there should be a tag for Natasha Romanov is exasperated as hell with these boys, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: Natasha interrupts him. “So here’s what happened,” she says, letting her irritation bleed into her voice and her expression. Clint ducks his head even lower. “You two morons got the bright idea to get busy on a magic altar while wearing a magic amulet. Somehow, this triggered some kind of spell, and—I can’t believe this is anactualthing I’m about to say—it turned you both into little dragons.”Bucky stares at Clint, then looks down at his own claws. Then he looks back up at Nat. “What thefuck?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 114
Kudos: 243
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on shatteredhourglass's little [Winterhawk Dragon AU.](https://shatteredhourglass.tumblr.com/post/618332488292532224/dragon-au-winterhawk-ilu) It was supposed to be a short little one-shot and now suddenly it has a plot and feelings and it's completely ridiculous and I'm not sorry at all. 
> 
> Also using it as the free space square on my Bucky Barnes Bingo card because I can.

“Bucky,” Clint says.

Bucky determinedly ignores him and swings his sword at the last skeleton guard. It collapses in a heap of bones, the skull still grinning at him. He steps over it, half expecting it to reach out and grab him like the last two did. But it stays down, and he lets out a sigh of relief as he turns to check out the rest of the temple. His shoulders ache from swinging the sword around.

“Bucky.”

He misses his gun, but the sword was admittedly more effective than bullets would have been.

“Bucky.”

He does have some questions about _how_ Strange was able to acquire him one so quickly, though. _Maybe the Sanctum has an armory?_ Probably. Wouldn’t surprise him. They’ve got magic capes, after all. An armory with swords is probably the most normal thing in there.

“Buuuuucky.”

“ _What?_ ” he finally demands, spinning around. “I’m _busy_.”

“That’s it. They’re all gone,” Clint says. “I checked the perimeter already.” He’s sitting at the top of the steps, perched on the large stone altar. It’s high enough that they’re talking through comms, rather than in person, although Bucky can faintly hear Clint’s actual voice. “I have to say, I think this takes the cake for the weirdest thing we’ve ever done.”

Bucky can definitely agree with that. “I’ll say.”

“Like when I was a kid, I imagined growing up to be an astronaut or something, you know? I did not picture myself shooting explosive arrows at skeleton soldiers in a magic temple.”

“You wanted to be an astronaut?”

“I wanted to be a lot of things,” Clint says. “When I was five I was dead set on being a dog.”

Bucky laughs. “A _what_?”

“Dogs are cool,” Clint says without a trace of embarrassment. “Plus, their lives are so easy. All they gotta do is lay around and eat and be loved on. You’ll never see a dog getting up at the ass crack of dawn and flying to South America to retrieve a magic amulet from a magic temple for a scary wizard.”

“True,” Bucky agrees. “Get down here, would you? We gotta go. Tony’s probably waiting in the jet. And Dr. Strange said not to be in here when the sun goes down.”

“Why do you think that is? Are there nighttime booby traps?” Clint suddenly sounds excited. “Is there a giant boulder waiting to drop on us? Are we gonna get all _Indiana Jones_ on this temple’s ass?”

“I don’t think I’ve watched those yet,” Bucky says. “Get down here.”

“No, you come up here. We’ve got plenty of time until sunset. The view’s nice.” Clint waves at him. “Plus, there’s some cool artwork up here, and I want to take pictures.”

“So take pictures and come down.”

“I can’t. I left my phone on the Quinjet. I need yours.”

Bucky sighs. “Are you _really_ gonna make me climb the stairs?”

“Please? It’s _dragons_ , Buck, they’re so cool. There’s a purple one. I want to make it my new background.”

Bucky shakes his head, but he starts climbing up the stairs. “You owe me for this.”

“I’ll buy you those donuts you really like when we get home.”

“A dozen of them.”

“Two dozen,” Clint promises. “Just because I love you.”

The stairs are steep and awful. Bucky’s in good shape, but he’s still a gasping mess by the time he gets to the top. “I…hate…you…” he wheezes, extracting his phone from his pocket. He hands it to Clint and collapses on top of the altar, dropping the sword on the ground.

“Earning your donuts,” Clint says with a grin, leaning down to kiss him. “Thank you.”

He moves Bucky’s leg out of the way and starts taking pictures. Bucky just lays on his back and tries to remember how to breathe.

Clint’s right, in any case. The view _is_ good up here. The temple is centered between two mountains, overlooking a cliff. They’re on the outside of it now—or rather, on top of it. They’d stolen the amulet from the interior portion, which was when the skeleton guards had made an appearance and chased them outside. Clint had gone high to do his archer thing, and Bucky had stayed on the ground with his sword.

“Okay,” Clint says. “I’m good.” He stands up and looks at Bucky, who’s still gasping. “Dude, are you dying or something?”

“Probably.”

“You need to do more cardio.”

“Fuck you, Barton. I do plenty of cardio.” Bucky tips his head up and squints at Clint. “We should go.”

Clint looks at his watch. “Sunset’s not for another hour.”

“So?”

“So,” Clint says, putting a hand on Bucky’s leg. “We climbed all the way up here. We should…stay awhile. Enjoy the view. Spend some quality time together.” He winks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. Not that the idea isn’t appealing, but someone has to be the adult here. “Seriously? Now?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said to fuck me.” He grins. “Why not?”

“Uh, because we’re on top of an altar in a magic temple? And technically still on a mission? And Tony’s probably waiting for us? And we have to be out of here in an hour? I can think of more reasons if that’s not enough.”

“We can skip the cuddling, if you’re worried about it.”

Bucky snorts. “Come on, Clint. Time and place.”

The hand on his leg slides up a little higher, and he shifts, very aware of its placement. “Now is a time,” Clint murmurs to him, his voice lower. “And here is a place.” He gets on the altar by Bucky’s feet and slowly crawls up his body until they’re face to face, mouths barely inches from each other.

“Um,” Bucky says, most coherent thought fleeing his head as Clint’s hips press against his. “The amulet.”

Clint pats his chest. “I got it right here.”

“You’re _wearing_ it?”

“The hell else was I supposed to do with it?” Clint props himself on one elbow and reaches into his uniform, pulling out a golden amulet. It’s a big heavy thing, inlaid with a green jewel and etched with dragon designs. “It didn’t fit in my pocket. And Strange didn’t say not to.”

“He probably didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to do that.”

“Seems like an oversight on his part,” Clint says, and Bucky laughs. “In any case. The amulet’s fine, we have plenty of time, and no one’s around. Plus, I’ve never been fucked in a magic temple and I feel like that’s something I should cross off my sex bucket list.”

“You have magic temples on your sex bucket list?”

“You don’t?” Clint grins at him. “Come on, Buck. Be creative.” He grinds down, snickering as Bucky bites his lip to keep quiet. “Could be fun.”

Bucky sighs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he says fondly.

Then he hooks his leg behind Clint’s, grabs his waist, and flips them over. Clint grunts as his back hits the stone. “Ow, you _jerk_ , that—”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, and he kisses him, hard. His hands slide down Clint’s arms and he pulls them upwards, pinning them above Clint’s head. “Stay still.”

“Ooh, I love it when you get all bossy on me.”

“I said shut up,” Bucky says, letting his voice drop into a commanding tone, and grins as Clint’s mouth immediately snaps shut. “That’s better. Only thing I wanna hear out of you until we’re done is my name or your safeword, got it?”

“Got it,” Clint says, his voice low and husky. “ _Bucky_.”

“Good boy.” Bucky’s hand slides down, pressing against Clint’s growing erection through his pants.

Clint moans at the words and his eyes slip closed. Bucky reaches up and moves the amulet aside, then slowly unzips the black uniform. Clint’s skin is warm under his metal hand. Bucky just barely brushes over him, loving the way he shudders under the soft touch. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, thumbing over a nipple. Then he gives it a little pinch.

Clint lets out a short squeak at that, and Bucky laughs before capturing his mouth in another kiss. “That was fucking adorable,” he murmurs, doing it again.

“Bucky,” Clint whines, pushing his hips up, trying to grind his erection on Bucky’s thigh.

“ _No_ ,” Bucky admonishes. “You said we have an hour, right? I’m gonna take my time, then. Consider it payback for making me climb all the way up here.”

This gets him another whining noise. Bucky reaches down and unsnaps the pants. “Up,” he orders, and Clint lifts enough for Bucky to slide the fabric out of the way and tug him towards the edge of the altar. Then he kisses his way down Clint’s stomach, wet, open-mouth kisses that leave the taste of his skin in Bucky’s mouth. Clint twitches at each one. Bucky loves that.

He reaches Clint’s cock and hovers just above it, flicking his eyes up to gauge the reaction. “You want my mouth here?”

“Bucky,” Clint pleads, his mouth working with other words that he’s not allowed to say. “Bucky, _Bucky_ —“

He cuts off as Bucky takes him into his mouth, sucking _hard_. Taking him deep just the way Clint likes it, dragging his tongue up the underside as Clint lets out a strangled yell and bucks up into him.

Bucky pulls off and shoves him back down. “Stay still,” he orders, keeping his hand splayed flat against Clint’s abs. “Remember?” He licks around Clint’s cock again.

“Christ,” Clint mutters, throwing his head back hard enough to make it bounce. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m flattered,” Bucky says. “But that’s not my name.”

“Christ, _Bucky_ ,” Clint says as he picks his head up, with the lopsided grin that says he _knows_ he’s being a smartass.

“Gonna punish you for that later,” Bucky promises, and God, he _loves_ the little whimper Clint makes in response. “But for the moment…”

He gets back to work, teasing now, using his hand and his mouth to drive Clint wild. He sucks at the head, licks his way down the shaft, bites at the sensitive skin along Clint’s thigh. He keeps changing the rhythm of it, reveling in the frustrated sounds Clint makes, and how he trembles like a live wire under Bucky’s touches. “I wanna fuck you,” he says, finally pulling off and kissing his way back up Clint’s body. He keeps his hand slowly working up and down, watching every reaction. “That okay?”

“Bucky,” Clint says, nodding frantically. “Jesus—shit—fuck—yes, _Bucky_ —“

Bucky laughs. “Having trouble following instructions, I see.”

Clint makes a little noise and lifts up one of his hands. He holds it up, palm open to Bucky, expression pleading. Bucky looks at it for a moment, then raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?” He doesn’t _think_ so, but he trusts Clint to safeword out if he needs it.

Clint slowly reaches into an inside pocket of his uniform. After patting around for a second, he pulls out a small bottle of something and offers it to Bucky. Bucky shifts his balance and takes it with his free hand.

He turns it over in his palm and examines the label. It’s lube. He stares at it for a second, then snickers. “You brought _lube_ on a mission? Wait, were you _planning_ for this to happen, or is this just something you always carry? Because now I have questions about this.”

With that same hand, Clint zips his lips shut. Then he clasps it back above his head with the other one, and winks at Bucky.

“You little shit,” Bucky says, leaning down to kiss him. “You have _no_ idea what’s gonna happen to you at home.”

He quickly strips his own clothes off, grinning at the look of desire and anticipation on Clint’s face. Then he pops the cap on the lube and pours some on his fingers. “Ready, doll?”

Clint shivers a little at the endearment, his expression turning tender. Bucky kisses his stomach, gently nipping at a long-healed bullet wound as his fingers circle around Clint’s hole. He presses one in, steady and easy, watching as Clint tilts his head back and mumbles something Bucky can’t hear.

He opens easily, and one finger becomes two, then three, Bucky’s eyes intent on Clint’s writhing as he fucks him open. “Let me know when you’re ready,” he says.

“Bucky,” Clint whines. He grinds down onto Bucky’s hand, meeting his eyes. “Please?”

“Also not my name,” Bucky says, pulling his fingers out. “But I’m gonna let it go, because you sound so pretty when you beg me for it.”

“Please,” Clint says again immediately, drawing out the word into a breathy moan as Bucky slicks himself up. “Please, Buck, please, _please_ —“

Bucky slides into him, closing his eyes at the tight warmth around his dick. “You feel so good, baby,” he mutters, leaning down to suck at Clint’s neck. “You always feel so good, love fucking you, love the way you look underneath me…” He trails off, preoccupied with sucking a bruise onto Clint’s skin. Clint shudders underneath him, arms flexing against nothing more than Bucky’s orders to keep them there, and _fuck_ that’s hot. Those biceps are going to be the death of him.

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he feels like checking his watch would ruin the mood a bit, so he doesn’t drag it out. He fucks Clint with a steady rhythm, pausing only once to get Clint’s pants off the rest of the way so he can spread his legs a little wider. “Want me to touch you?”

Clint nods, eyes wild. “Please?”

“Mmm.” Bucky puts his hand on Clint’s stomach. “Like this?”

“Bucky,” Clint whines, drawing out the word.

“Not there?” He moves his hand a little lower, smirking at the look on Clint’s face. “How about…here?”

“Bucky!”

Bucky laughs. “I suppose,” he says, and settles his hand on Clint’s dick, stroking it in time with his thrusts. “You’re being good for me. Talkin’ so pretty. Beggin’ me for it.” Clint lets out a moan, and Bucky picks up the pace, fucking him harder. He slides a hand under Clint’s leg, lifting it up to rest against his shoulder.

Clint squirms a little, adjusting himself underneath Bucky, and then tilts his hips. Bucky’s next thrust makes him shout, his hands scrabbling at the smooth altar underneath him.

Bucky laughs. “Got the spot, huh?” He works his hand faster. “You gonna come for me?”

“Please,” Clint begs. There are tears in his eyes. “Bucky—!”

“Do it,” Bucky orders him, voice rough, and Clint does, letting out a shout as he pushes up one last time, coming all over himself and Bucky’s hand. Bucky works him through it even as he chases his own orgasm, fucking with a breathless intensity until he feels the edge of it rising in him. “I’m gonna—”

“Bucky” Clint says, eyes wide and chest still heaving. “Bucky, _please_!”

It’s like a wave dragging him under, something roaring in his ears, everything blanked from his mind except the sheer amount of _pleasure_ rocketing through him. He collapses forward, his face tucked into Clint’s neck, hearing Clint’s own ragged breaths in his ear. “Baby,” he mumbles, riding it out with a few slow thrusts. “God, you’re so good for me. So perfect.”

They stay like that for a few moments, pressed together as they recover. Then Clint slowly moves his arms from overhead with a soft, “Ow.”

“You okay?” Bucky mumbles, propping himself up on an elbow.

Clint winces. “Sore.” He kisses Bucky, noting the worried expression. “It’s okay, Buck. I would have said so if it wasn’t. One of the skeletons whacked my shoulder, that’s all. It’ll bruise.”

The words nudge at Bucky’s reality until he can’t ignore them anymore. _Skeletons. Amulets. Responsibilities._ “Alright,” he says, lifting himself for one more kiss. “We gotta move.”

“Ugh,” Clint says, and he wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist. “Stay. Sleep.”

“It’s a _stone_ altar,” Bucky chuckles, getting his other elbow under him. “We have a nice soft bed at home. Come on.” He pushes back against Clint’s legs. “Move now, and in a couple hours, we can have a repeat. Okay?”

There’s sigh, and then a very begrudging, “Fine.” He drops his legs down.

“Good boy,” Bucky says, and Clint practically melts underneath him. “Okay, let me—”

He stops. Looks down. Clint’s still wearing the amulet, golden chain trailing across his skin. The amulet itself is on the the altar, having slid off Clint’s chest at some point. Bucky reaches over and picks it up.

It’s pulsing softly, little bursts of green light coming out like a strobe. It’s humming too, barely audible now, but slowly getting louder. It’s also getting warmer in his hand. Almost uncomfortably so.

“Uh,” Clint says, looking at it. “Is is…is it supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, staring at it. “Take it off, maybe?”

Clint reaches for it, but as soon as his fingers touch the chain, he yanks them back with a hiss. “It’s hot!”

“What? Is it burning you?”

“Not on my chest, but my fingers—“ Clint shows him the red marks. “What the hell?”

The amulet is pulsing louder, more frantically, the green light growing brighter and brighter. Then it flashes heat in his palm and Bucky drops it with a yelp of pain. It lands on Clint’s chest. “Shit!”

“It’s fine,” Clint says, catching his wrist before he can grab it again. “It’s not—it’s not hot on me. What is _happening_?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, wincing as the light gets brighter. “I think we fucked up.”

The humming gets louder too, growing until it’s a steady drone that he can feel in his chest more than he hears. Then he can hear it, and he winces again, dipping his head to cover his ears.

“We definitely fucked up,” Clint says, hands over his own ears, but his voice is drowned out by the humming. The light flashes brilliantly, so bright that he has to close his eyes. The flashing gets faster, so fast that it’s almost a steady light. Bucky can see it through his eyelids, squeezed shut as they are. It build and builds and builds until it’s all he can see, all he can feel, covering all sensations and drowning out everything except the press of Clint’s body beneath him.

Then it stops.

Bucky raises his head after a long moment, slowly prying his fingers from his ears. “Was that it?” he asks, meeting Clint’s own confused eyes.

“I don’t know,” Clint says, sounding worried. “But I think we should—”

Bucky doesn’t get to hear the end of that sentence. There’s another flash of light, brighter this time, and a piercing sound that tears through him like sharp sword. Bucky screams at the same time Clint does, hands going to their ears, and then—

Nothing.

* * *

“You have GOT to be kidding me.”

Bucky blinks himself awake at the sound of the exasperated voice. His head hurts. His everything hurts, really. And he feels…strange. He’s not even sure how to describe it.

“What happened?” he tries to ask, except his mouth isn’t quite right, tongue and teeth all feeling different. He stops and licks his lips, then—

Then he loses his shit, because his lips aren’t actually there, and his tongue is long and flickery, and when he picks his head up to see what the fuck is going on, he sees a black _claw_ where his right hand is supposed to be.

He freaks the fuck out, words spilling from his not-mouth as he swivels around, trying to see the rest of himself. There’s another claw on the left, a silver one, and two more behind him, also he’s pretty sure he has a tail, and he’s _small_ —

“Easy!” someone says, and Bucky suddenly feels himself being lifted into the air. He scrabbles for purchase on the hand, twisting and turning and scratching until he suddenly finds himself face to face with Natasha. “Stop it,” she hisses, wincing as he digs his claws—claws, claws, why does he have _claws_ —into her hand. “Let go of me, Barnes. _Now_.”

Bucky somehow eases his claws out of her hand, wincing at the droplets of blood that roll down. “Sorry,” he says, and there’s suddenly a little puff of smoke in front of him. Nat sighs and waves it away with her free hand.

“You listening to me?” she demands.

“Yes.” When she keeps looking at him, he tries nodding.

“Good.” She sets him back down, and he realizes that they’re back in Avengers Tower. Specifically, he’s on the kitchen table. Everything around him looks disproportionally large, including Natasha. He stares up at her as she sits in one of the chairs, then crosses her arms and scowls at him. Bucky quails a little bit under that glare.

“What happened?” he asks again, and there’s that little puff of smoke again.

Nat sighs. “I can’t understand you, Bucky, but I’m guessing you want to know what’s going on.”

Bucky nods.

“You,” she says, stabbing a finger at him, “and your idiot boyfriend are in _huge_ trouble.”

Bucky nods again, because he’s figured that much out on his own. It has to do something with the amulet, he’s guessing. Although he’s pretty sure that Strange would have told them about any curses, so he’s not entirely sure—

 _Clint_ , Bucky suddenly thinks, and he spins around in a frantic motion. Nat reaches out and squashes him flat onto the table with one hand. “Clint is fine,” she says, accurately reading his distress. “Look.”

She reaches out and taps on a pizza box on the other side of the table. The lid bumps up a little, and she raises it. A scaly snout pokes out, followed by blinking yellow eyes. Then a violet lizard slithers its way out of the box. It’s a little bigger and longer than Bucky is, about the length of Natasha’s forearm, with four thick limbs and a long, whipping tail. Small horns protrude from its head, a little longer than the line of spikes down its neck. A leathery pair of amethyst-colored wings flare up, flapping excitedly as the eyes lock onto Bucky.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Bucky says. “Clint?”

“Bucky!” Clint says, a puff of smoke coming from his nostrils. He scurries over to Bucky and rubs his scaly head against Bucky’s foreleg. “You okay? I was freaked out, man, I thought you were never gonna wake up. You’ve been passed out since it happened.”

“Clint, what the hell is going on?”

Clint ducks his head a little, somehow managing to look sheepish. “Uh…” he says, smoke curling from him. “Remember that one time we had mind-blowing sex in a magic temple?”

“Vividly.”

“Well…” Clint taps a claw on the table. “We…um…”

Natasha interrupts him. “So here’s what happened,” she says, letting her irritation bleed into her voice and her expression. Clint ducks his head even lower. “You two morons got the bright idea to get busy on a magic altar while wearing a magic amulet. Somehow, this triggered some kind of spell, and—I can’t believe this is an _actual_ thing I’m about to say—it turned you both into little dragons.”

Bucky stares at Clint, then looks down at his own claws. Then he looks back up at Nat. “What the _fuck_?”

“So now,” Nat continues, “Dr. Strange is doing some research to figure out if it can be reversed, and I have the lucky job of babysitting you two to make sure you don’t get up to any more stupid ideas.” She props her hand on her chin and glares at him. “When we get you back to being human, I am going to kick your asses so hard you’ll be feeling it for the next _year_.”

Clint slowly moves away from her, crawling backwards and tucking his tail. Bucky wants to laugh at him, but he’s doing the same thing, honestly. He’s been the direct target of her anger exactly one time before this, and he still has nightmares about it.

“How do they know what happened in the temple?” he asks Clint.

Clint puffs out smoke. “I kind of…told them,” he says. “When we didn’t come back, Tony came to look for us. He found us all dragon-ized on the altar.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, it wasn’t that hard to figure out,” he says. “Our clothes were there. And the lube. Technically he guessed what happened, and I just nodded.”

“What about the amulet?”

“I was still wearing it, after. Tony picked it up and Strange has it now. So technically, we completed the mission.”

“And got turned into _dragons_!”

“Win some, lose some?” Clint looks at him with a hopeful expression in his eyes.

Bucky snarls at him. “This is _your_ fault.”

“Oh my fault, huh? If you say so, Mr. Shut Up and Hold Still.”

“Don’t even go there. You’re the one who put the amulet on!”

“It didn’t fit in my pocket!”

Nat’s hand slams on the table. “Both of you knock it off!”

Bucky and Clint both jump, and turn to face her. There’s a haze of smoke in the air, and she’s coughing a little bit. She waves her hand to clear it and glares at them. “Knock it off,” she says again, “or I’m going to put you in separate aquariums and leave you there.”

“Please don’t,” Clint says, and he crawls forward to her hand, nudging at it.

Her face softens the tiniest bit. She rubs a finger on the side of his jaw. “You’re an idiot,” she says, and Bucky suddenly sees the worry that she’s masking. “Both of you.”

The door to the kitchen bursts open, and Dr. Strange walks in. Bucky perks up. “Did you figure it out? Can you get us back?”

Natasha echoes his question as he sits in a chair. He’s holding the amulet in one hand, and a giant book in the other. “No,” he says, sitting down. “I have not. I’m getting close, but there’s more research that I need to do. More things I need.”

He reaches out and picks up Clint, who squeals and twists in his grasp, trying to bite his fingers. “Put me down, you Harry Potter wannabe!”

“Stop it,” Strange says, snapping his fingers. He pulls his hand away, and Clint remains in the air, puffing out angry smoke curls. It’s a testament to how _weird_ Bucky’s life is that the sight doesn’t even phase him. “I need to look at you.”

Clint swipes at the air, but there’s nothing he can grab onto. Strange rotates him a few times, studying him intently. Then he nods. “Okay. I need one of your scales.” He reaches out and plucks one, smirking a little at the roar Clint lets out. It’s accompanied by a tiny little puff of fire.

“Stop it,” Nat says. “You don’t get to complain. Not about this.”

“It _hurt_ ,” Clint snaps, twisting in the air again. “Strange, put me _down_ before I singe your stupid beard off.”

Strange snaps his fingers again, and Clint slowly drifts down to the table. He immediately crawls back over to Bucky and tucks against him. “I feel violated,” he says, and Bucky wraps a protective wing over him.

“Barnes,” Strange says, holding out a hand. “You too.”

Bucky licks Clint’s snout and reluctantly slithers over to Strange. He goes through the same intense scrutiny, and lets out his own little roar when Strange takes one of his scales. It feels like a fingernail being pried off.

He crawls back over to Clint when Strange releases him, and they do the whole wing thing again. It’s nice, he thinks, curling up next to Clint. Comforting. He might be a dragon, and it’s definitely Clint’s fault, but at least he doesn’t have to do it alone.

“Okay,” Strange says. “There’s a couple books I need. Some other materials I have to acquire. It’ll take me about a week.”

“A week?” Nat says in dismay. Bucky and Clint look at each other. “I have to deal with this for a week?”

Strange nods. “I’ll do my best,” he says, looking both fascinated and amused by what’s going on. “I’ll keep in touch.” Then he points at Bucky and Clint. “Don’t do _anything_ ,” he says. “You’re on lockdown. You stay in the Tower and behave yourselves. And absolutely _no_ more sex. I need to understand what caused this and the boundaries of it before you get into more trouble. Nod if you understand me.”

“Can we even _have_ sex like this?” Bucky asks.

Clint nudges his head. “Bet we could find out. Did you know lizards have—?”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Nat says. “I know that look, Clint. I wasn’t kidding about the tanks.”

Clint nods once, although his claw comes to cover Bucky’s. Strange gives them one last look, then grabs the scales and motions to Natasha. She follows him over to the door.

Bucky looks at Clint. “Well,” he says. “Guess we got a week to be dragons.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, flaring his wings out. “Hey, do you think we can fly?”

* * *

They _can_ fly, which becomes a source of endless amusement over the next few days. Clint takes particular joy in dive-bombing people in the mornings before they’re fully awake. He surprises Tony once, which results in a lot of shrieking and undignified flailing on Tony’s part, and a lot of smoking laughter on theirs.

Except then Tony warns the others, and the next time Clint tries it, Rhodey whips a tennis racquet out of nowhere. He nails Clint with a _fantastic_ shot, sending him spiraling to the other side of the room and into the giant coffee pot. The lid closes with a heavy thump on top of him.

“Bucky!” Clint yelps, flailing around in the liquid. “Bucky, get me out of here!”

Bucky lands on the top of the pot and looks down, but he can’t really pry the lid off with his claws. He can only watch helplessly as Clint splashes and glares up at him through the glass. “I told you not to do it again,” he says, smoke curling from his nostrils, and looks around to see if anyone can lend a hand.

“We should probably do something about that,” Bruce says mildly.

Natasha glances up from her coffee. “Probably,” she agrees, but she doesn’t move an inch.

Bucky lets out another huff of smoke and claws at the lid again.

“Seriously,” Bruce says. “They’re gonna smoke up the whole place again.”

“It’s their own fault for having sex in a magic temple,” she mutters, but she sets her mug down and gets up. Bucky moves to the side as she opens the lid and fishes Clint out by his tail. “No more dive-bombing,” she orders him, dropping him into the sink. She turns the faucet on and rinses the coffee off him.

“Fine,” Clint says, flaring his wings in the spray. She turns it off and walks away.

Bucky flies into the sink next to him and nudges his wings. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Clint says. “My pride hurts, and I definitely prefer to drink coffee rather than swim in it.” He shakes like a dog and sprays Bucky with water droplets. “Wanna light Rhodey’s shirt on fire?”

“You have no sense of self-preservation, do you?” Bucky sighs, but he bumps his head against Clint’s all the same. “Fine. Wait until he puts the tennis racquet away.”

“Probably smart.”

“You gotta admit, it was a good shot.”

“I have no comment,” Clint says in a dignified manner, holding his head up high. “But when we’re human again, I’m going to fill his armor with tennis balls.”

Bucky snorts out a puff of smoke. “I’ll help,” he says. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before someone decides to wash dishes or something.”

“I find that unlikely.” But he flares his purple wings and flaps them, lifting himself out of the sink. They fly back over to the table and land on it, curling up around each other. Natasha looks at them calmly, then reaches out one hand and scratches right where Bucky’s wings join his back. He lets out a contented sigh and arches into it.

“All things considered,” he says, wrapping his tail around Clint’s, “being a dragon isn’t so bad.”

“It’s not,” Clint agrees lazily. He stretches, keeping one wary eye on the tennis racquet. Rhodey watches him with a little smirk, tapping it with one threatening finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has no idea what to say to _that_ sentence, because A, where the hell has Doom has seen _dragons_ before, and B, the curious way that Doom is looking at them makes him really nervous. “Clint,” he says, head still woozy from hitting the wall. “Get out of here. Go get help.”
> 
> “I’m not leaving you,” Clint growls, wings protectively flared over him.
> 
> Doom reaches out and picks them up. Bucky snaps at him, but he’s wearing gloves, and Bucky’s fangs don’t do much more than annoy him. Then he pulls an honest-to-God sack out of his robes and stuffs them inside. “I look forward to examining you more closely,” he says, and closes the sack over them.

A few days later, they’re all having team dinner when a familiar beeping splits the air. Natasha drops her chopsticks and digs her pager out of her pocket. “Shit.”

Clint pokes his head out of a pile of noodles. “Is that a mission?”

“I think so,” Bucky says. He flaps his wings and settles on Steve’s shoulder, reading his pager. “Yeah. It is. Doom’s making trouble again.”

“Suit up,” Steve says to the team. He pushes his plate away and gets up, then pulls Bucky off his shoulder and gently drops him on the table. “You guys are staying.”

Clint huffs out a blast of fire, narrowly missing Bruce’s arm. “I don’t want to stay,” he says. “I hate that guy. I want to light his cape on fire.” He accompanies this with a little blast of flames.

Natasha is already pulling on her Widow’s Bites. “Don’t even _think_ about it,” she says, pointing at Clint. “I’m dead serious. Strange said to stay out of trouble. The last thing we need is for one of you to lose a limb or something.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Bucky says, and smoke curls from Clint as he laughs.

Nat narrows her eyes. “You’re _not_ coming.”

Bucky raps his claws on the table in quick Morse code. It’s not the easiest way to communicate, but it works in a pinch. W-A-N-T-T-O-H-E-L-P.

“You’ll get killed!”

W-I-L-L-N-O-T, Clint raps.

“They might be helpful,” Bruce points out. “I mean, no one knows we have dragons. And Thor’s not here, so we’re short a man anyway.”

“I really don’t think—“ Nat starts, but she’s interrupted by Steve as he drops his shield on the table.

“We need to go,” he says. “SHIELD just upgraded the threat to Level 5.”

“Shit,” Nat says, and she shakes her head. “Fine. You can come. You can fly up and be our recon.”

Clint huffs in happiness and flies onto her shoulder. “It’ll be fine,” he says, nudging her cheek. “As long as no one has any tennis racquets.”

Bucky snorts and curls himself around Steve’s arm. “I’ll light them on fire first,” he promises. “No one’s gonna get a shot at you.”

“Ah, true love,” Clint says, flicking his tongue at Bucky. Then he waves his tail in Nat’s face. “Come on, let’s go before Doom does something crazy.”

Nat swats his tail away. “Aquarium,” she threatens, hiding her smile. “Tiny one. And then I’ll put Bucky in another one and laugh while you pine for each through the glass.”

“You’re so _mean_ ,” Clint says, but he tucks his tail away.

Steve tugs Bucky off his arm and puts him on his shoulder. “Let’s go!”

The trouble Doom is making involves his usual trick of telepathically controlled robots. It’s almost tiresome, Bucky thinks as he bites at Doom’s ankles. _Seriously, man, can’t you come up with_ anything _new?_

“Get off!” Doom growls, and he kicks Bucky, sending him flying across the room. Bucky’s wings flare, but he doesn’t catch himself in time. He hits the wall with a loud _smack_ and tumbles to the floor. His vision flashes bright and he snarls in pain, wondering if he can still get a concussion even as a dragon.

“Bucky!” Clint yells, flying over. He hovers over Bucky, growling at Doom as he steps closer. “Back off, Darth Vader. I swear to all things unholy that if you touch him, I will _eat you_!”

“Interesting,” Doom says, kneeling down to examine them. “I have not seen a dragon for quite some time. Where did you two come from?”

Bucky has no idea what to say to _that_ sentence, because A, where the hell has Doom has seen _dragons_ before, and B, the curious way that Doom is looking at them makes him really nervous. “Clint,” he says, head still woozy from hitting the wall. “Get out of here. Go get help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Clint growls, wings protectively flared over him.

Doom reaches out and picks them up. Bucky snaps at him, but he’s wearing gloves, and Bucky’s fangs don’t do much more than annoy him. Then he pulls an honest-to-God _sack_ out of his robes and stuffs them inside. “I look forward to examining you more closely,” he says, and closes the sack over them.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Clint says, attempting to detangle himself from Bucky as the sack bumps around, throwing them together. “This is just undignified.”

Bucky finally gathers his scattered thoughts into some form. “Clint, I told you to _go_.”

“And I told you I wasn’t leaving you, so shut up and let’s think for a moment.” He tries to turn around, and ends up stepping on Bucky. “Shit, sorry.”

“Just settle down,” Bucky says, then winces as Clint sprawls on top of him. “Ow—not _on_ me, you scaly bastard.”

“I can’t help it. We’re in a sack, it’s not like the floor is solid.” He wriggles until they’re laying next to each other. “How the fuck do we keep ending up in these situations?”

“I blame you,” Bucky says, closing his eyes.

Clint huffs a little at that. “I’d be offended, but honestly, you’re probably right.” He lays his head on top of Bucky’s, then picks it up a moment later. “Let’s see if we can fire blast our way out.”

They can’t. Whatever the sack is made from, it’s apparently fireproof. And claw proof. And fang proof. After a couple attempts, Doom whacks them into a wall with a muffled, “Cease your struggling.”

“Asshole,” Clint says, letting out a little stream of fire. “Who the hell carries a sack around with them, anyway? How often does he need one that he just has it on hand?”

Bucky curls up. He’s feeling a little motion-sick, honestly, and he doesn’t really want to learn what it’s like to throw up as a dragon. “What do you think he’s going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Clint sighs. He wraps his tail around Bucky’s. “Probably something heinous and painful. It’s Doom, after all. I highly doubt he’s gonna bake us cookies.”

“Great,” Bucky growls. “Just _great_.”

Clint pauses, then says, “It’s a little disappointing, you know.”

“What is?”

“I _was_ kinda hoping to get you in the sack, but this really isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Oh for _fucks_ sake,” Bucky says, but he’s laughing too hard to really say anything else after that.

* * *

Doom unties the sack and dumps them into a glass container—an aquarium, actually, where the hell is Nat when you need her—and puts a heavy lid on it. “So,” he says, examining them through the glass. “How did the Avengers manage to come by a couple of dragons?”

“Go fuck yourself, Sauron,” Clint snarls at him. He nudges Bucky. “You okay?”

“My head hurts,” Bucky says, struggling to his feet. “Can dragons get concussions?”

“I don’t know.” He looks around the aquarium. “Where are we, anyway?”

“I think we’re in his office.” Bucky crawls over to the opposite corner. “Yeah, look. There’s a desk.”

It’s a nice office, honestly. Big desk with a half-finished chess game on it, fancy array of computers and monitors on the wall, tasteful artwork neatly hung up. Giant bookcases line the entirety of one wall. There’s even a plant over by the giant window.

“I bet it’s a fake plant,” Clint says, coming over. “Look how green it is. He’s too evil to have a real plant. He’d never remember to water it.”

Bucky nods. “Definitely fake.”

Doom is still looking through the glass. “Fascinating,” he says. “Such interesting specimens.”

“The real question,” Bucky says, ignoring Doom, “is why he has a large, empty aquarium in his office.”

“That _is_ a good question. Personally, I want to know who the chess game is against.” Clint looks up at the lid. “Do you think we can move that?”

“I couldn’t a move a coffee pot lid, so…no?”

They try a couple times anyway, but it doesn’t work, and they end up settling on the floor to glare at Doom. Bucky does _not_ like the way he’s looking at them. He can’t read Doom’s expression through the mask, but the body language is suddenly tense. “Wait a moment,” he says, head tilting to the side. He’s looking at Bucky’s left foreleg, the silver one. Then he looks at Clint. “Wait just a moment.”

“Shit,” Clint says, raising his wings. “He knows.”

“You are _Avengers_ ,” Doom says, his voice sounding utterly delighted. “You—you are the soldier out of time.” He studies Clint. “I am not sure about you, but from the lack of pesky arrows during that battle, I suspect you must be the archer.”

“I’ll show you pesky arrows,” Clint mutters. “Also, soldier out of time? Does he think you’re Cap?”

“It _could_ technically apply to both of us,” Bucky says. “But I think the leg gives me away. Anyway, Steve hit him with the shield earlier, so I’m pretty sure he knows we aren’t the same person. Unless he thinks Steve can shapeshift or something.”

Doom is still chuckling. “ _This_ certainly changes things.” He puts a hand on the glass. “Can you still you understand me? Are you communicating with each other?”

Clint crawls over to the glass by him and rears up, putting his forelegs on the glass. He narrows his eyes at Doom, then carefully raps out G-O-F-U-C-K-Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F.

Doom’s fingers curl on the glass, the only indication of his irritation. Bucky lets out a snort and moves over to Clint. “Probably not smart.”

“Satisfying, though.” He drops down to all fours again. “Plus, if we can get him talking, we might be able to distract him long enough for the others to get here.”

“Fair point,” Bucky says. “You think they’re coming?”

“Of course they are.” Clint’s wings unfold, and he flaps them a little. “We’re trouble, but they love us, right?”

“I mean, do you think they even know we’ve been picked up?”

“Oh. Uh…” Clint looks around. “Probably? They’ll figure it out at some point.” He lets out a little blast of fire.

“I find this quite fascinating,” Doom says. “I have not seen magic of this type in years. I look forward to examining it further. Once I get rid of your friends, that is.” He gets up and walks away, heading back out through a pair of giant double doors.

“That’s ominous.” Bucky whips his tail against the glass, rattling it. “You know, once we get out of here, we should have Tony make us comms. So shit like this doesn’t happen.” He hits the glass again. He’s not really sure what he’s trying to accomplish, other than maybe work out some frustration. It’s not going to break.

Clint hits the glass too. “What, like little headsets?”

“Or something.” Bucky tries a few more times, then gives up, slinking back to the corner. “Buddy, I think we’re officially trapped.”

“Well, shit.” There’s more smoke curling from Clint, which means he’s upset. “ _Shit_.” He hits the glass again, then throws his whole body against it. “Let us out, dammit!”

“Come here,” Bucky says, lifting a wing. Clint body slams the glass one more time, then gives up and moves over to Bucky.

“I’m never getting a fish,” Clint says, crawling underneath his wing. “Now that I know what it’s like.” He curls up against Bucky’s side. “Also never going in a magic temple again. Next time Strange wants some weird amulet, he can send Cap.”

Bucky snorts softly and wraps his wing around Clint. “Agreed.”

Doom doesn’t come back for a long time. Bucky tries not to worry, but it’s hard not to. He keeps expecting the Hulk to break down the stupid double doors, or for Steve to burst through the window and knock the evil fake plant over. He hates feeling so _helpless_ in this stupid tank.

They’d done well during the battle, all things considered. Clint had set Doom’s cape on fire, and Bucky had distracted him long enough for Steve and Nat to take down a wave of robots. It was odd to be flapping around instead of firing a gun, but they were able to figure out a rhythm. Things were going well. And then this happened.

Clint shifts a little. “This is nice,” he says.

Bucky blinks. “ _What?_ ”

“I mean, the whole tank thing sucks. And the novelty of being a dragon is kind of wearing off. But I’m glad you’re here.” He moves his wings, brushing against Bucky. “I like being alone with you. And I like the wing snuggles for sure.”

“Oh.” Bucky pulls him closer. “Yeah. I like that part too.”

They lay quietly like that for a long while, tails and wings all tangled together. It’s weird as hell, Bucky thinks, but Clint’s got a point. It is nice to just be together. Even as dragons.

And then, of course, Clint opens his big mouth. “You know, we _could_ —”

Bucky whacks him on the head with his silver leg. “No.”

“Come on. You’re not even a _little_ curious about freaky dragon sex?”

“Sex is what got us into this mess, Clint. I love you, but the answer is no.”

“I _know_ how we got here. And by the way, it was totally your fault.”

Bucky lifts his head to look into Clint’s violet eye. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Clint blinks at him. “You’re the one who was swinging that sword around like a goddamn knight in shining armor. Literally, if you count the arm. How the hell was I not supposed to be turned on by that?”

With a sigh, Bucky puts his head back down. “That’s not really a good argument. _Everything_ I do turns you on.”

“Well,” Clint admits, “that’s fair. You’re an extremely attractive man, Bucky Barnes. Even as a dragon.”

Bucky pokes him with his tail. “You’re not so bad yourself, doll. I like all this purple on you.”

“You know, I really think it’s my color. I should have more purple things.”

“You definitely should. We could get you some purple hair ribbons or something.”

“Hair ribbons? I was thinking underwear. Tight, shiny, purple underwear.”

“ _That_ I’d like to see.”

“As soon as we’re out of here,” Clint promises. “The tightest and the shiniest. I’ll put on a show for you.”

* * *

Later— _much_ later—the door opens, and Doom strolls back in. He pauses when he sees them together, then tilts his head. Bucky wishes he could see underneath the mask, because he has the feeling Doom is faintly amused by the way they’re wrapped around each other. He also has the feeling that they just gave something away by doing that. Regardless, he doesn’t move. This the only comfort he has right now, he’s not going to give it up to pretend something else. Doom would figure it out anyway.

Doom closes the doors and walks over to the tank. “Your friends have left,” he says without preamble, and Bucky feels a little chill go through him. “They abandoned you, I’m afraid.”

“No, they didn’t,” Clint says tiredly. “Don’t listen to him, Buck.”

“I’m not,” Bucky assures him. “They probably just beat a tactical retreat. They wouldn’t leave us here.”

_Or would they?_ whispers the little voice in the back of his mind. _Maybe they decided you weren’t worth the trouble._

“Stop it,” Clint says, swiping at him with a claw. “They’re coming. They just gotta get past the Doom bots. Get out of your head.”

Bucky ducks the swipe. “How did you know?”

“Because I love you, you idiot, and I can tell when you’re getting all gloom and doom on me. And speaking of Doom…” He crawls out from under Bucky’s wing and shakes himself, then glares up at Doom through the glass. “Let us out of here, Michael Myers, or else I’m gonna set your fancy office on fire.”

Doom picks up the tank instead, sending Bucky and Clint scrabbling around for purchase on the glass floor. Then he drops it on the desk with a heavy thud and sits in his overly large chair. “So,” he says once they’re situated. “Tell me your names.”

Bucky and Clint look at each other, then back at him.

“Come now,” he says. “There is no harm in getting to know each other. You are my guests, after all.” He taps the glass once. “You know me, of course, although we have never been properly introduced. I am Victor von Doom. And you are…?”

Bucky snorts. “That is _not_ his actual name.”

“No, I think it is. It’s just ridiculous enough.” Clint taps his claws on the glass floor. “Do we tell him ours?”

“He already knows we’re Avengers.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we’re on a first-name basis.”

“Just tell him you’re Hawkeye.”

“ _You_ don’t have a code name.”

“He knows who I am, Clint. I’m not exactly a secret.”

Doom taps on the glass again. “I grow weary of waiting, Avengers.”

“Fuck you,” Clint says, but he raps out H-A-W-K-E-Y-E.

“Excellent. And you?”

B-A-R-N-E-S.

Doom nods. “It is a pleasure to meet both of you.”

Clint puffs out an irritated curl of smoke. L-E-T-U-S-O-U-T.

“I’m afraid I cannot do that,” Doom says. “At the moment, I have no appropriate facility to house you, and I would prefer that you not set my office on fire in a misguided attempt to escape.” He leans forward and examines them more closely. “How did this happen?”

“Yeah, that’s not really a conversation I want to have with you,” Clint says. He paces back and forth. “How do we get out of this one?”

“We don’t,” Bucky says simply. “Not unless he lets us.” He ducks as Clint looses an irritated stream of fire. “Hey! Watch it!”

“Sorry.” Clint narrows his eyes at Doom. L-E-T-U-S-O-U-T.

“I told you I cannot do that, Hawkeye.” He leans back in his chair. “I must make some arrangements, first. I give you my word your current quarters are a short-term solution.”

Bucky shakes his wings out. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Me neither.”

Doom steeples his fingers together, looking for all the world like a James Bond villain. One of the ridiculous ones that likes showboating too much. Like Goldfinger, maybe. “I honestly would like to know how this occurred. I do possess some sorcery abilities of my own, you know. It’s possible I could be of assistance.”

Bucky turns the idea over. “Is that true?”

“The magic thing? Yeah, I think so. Strange mentioned something about it once.” Clint is still pacing. “But I doubt he’s gonna be helpful. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s kind of a dick.”

There’s an edge of annoyance to Doom’s voice. “If you do not tell me what I want to know,” he says, “I will not hesitate to separate the pair of you—something that, I think, would cause you considerable distress.”

“He’s been talking to Nat,” Bucky says, and Clint laughs. “Tell him something, Clint, because I don’t think he’s bluffing, and I don’t want to be separated.”

Clint sighs. “Fine.” He thinks for a moment, then taps out M-A-G-I-C-T-E-M-P-L-E.

“Really? Fascinating. Where was this?”

S-O-U-T-H-A-M-E-R-I-C-A.

“Was it a spell? A curse? Something you triggered?”

“My leg’s gonna get tired,” Clint complains.

Bucky takes over. A-M-U-L-E-T.

Doom gets up suddenly and walks over to the bookshelf. Bucky watches as he pulls a couple of the books down, leafing through them. He brings them back over to the desk, and holds one up. “Did your amulet look similar to this?”

Bucky examines the picture. Y-E-S. It’s exactly the same, down to the green jewel and dragon etchings.

“Hmmm.” Doom turns the book around. “I suspected as much.”

Clint flops to the ground and rests his head on his forelegs. “Get to the point, Doom.”

He doesn’t. He walks away instead, nose buried in the book. Bucky stands next to Clint and watches Doom slowly pace around his office. “Do you think he can turn us back?”

“He probably could,” Clint says, yawning. His fangs flash in the light. “But I doubt he will. He hates the Avengers, remember? Why would he help us?”

“Maybe he’s had a sudden change of heart. Maybe he’ll take us out of here and bake us cookies and let us go.”

“Is it nice in your fantasy world? It must be.” Clint yawns again. “God, I’m tired.”

“You can sleep. I’ll stay up.”

“I’m not gonna fall asleep while Victor von Dickface is ominously parading around. Besides, you’re the one who got hit. _You_ should sleep.”

“Fat chance.”

Clint sighs and rolls onto his back. Bucky looks back over at Doom, who’s pulling out more books from the shelf. After a few minutes, he finally seems to find what he’s looking for, and brings the book back over to the desk. “I would like to try something,” he says. “With your permission, of course.”

“Oh no,” Clint says. “He’s going to pluck our wings off and eat them.”

Bucky snorts out smoke. “I doubt it.” He crawls over to the side of the tank by Doom, trying to read what the book says. He squints at it for a moment before he realizes it’s not even in English.

Doom runs his finger over a line of text, then looks up at Bucky. “This is not a perfect spell,” he says, “but I think it will make things easier for us.”

W-H-A-T-I-S-I-T

“A simple communication spell. Morse code is efficient, but tiresome to parse out. I imagine you agree with me.”

Bucky nods.

Doom puts his hand on the glass. “I will need to take you out one at a time for this. Do you give me your word you will not attempt to escape?”

Clint scrambles to his feet. “Oh god, yes. Please tell me he really is this stupid.”

“Fly out as soon as he opens the lid,” Bucky says, flaring his wings. “And then let’s light the rest of his ugly cloak on fire before we bust out of here.”

“I knew I loved you for a reason.” Clint shakes his own wings out and gets ready. “Come on, Boba Fett. Open the stupid tank.”

Except Doom is watching them, his head tilted to the side, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “No,” he finally says. “I suppose that would be a bit much to ask of you at this point. We have no reason to trust each other, after all.”

Bucky hates _everything_ about that statement, especially the amused tone to his voice, but he still gets himself ready as Doom reaches for the lid. His fingers hook around the edge. It lifts up. Bucky jumps—

And gets slammed back down by absolutely _nothing_.

Bucky struggles against whatever’s holding him, claws and fangs and tail all thrashing around. Next to him Clint’s having the same problem, although he’s cursing a lot more about it than Bucky is. Undeterred by the fire blasts, Doom reaches in and picks Bucky up by his tail. “Alright. You first.”

“Put me down!” Bucky snarls, twisting to bite his wrist. His fangs sink in a little bit, but then Doom pulls him off with a sigh and some muttered Latverian cursing. He drops Bucky head-first onto the desk, hard enough that Bucky’s vision swims a little. “Hey!”

“Bucky!” Clint’s throwing himself against the glass. “Let him go!”

“Calm yourself,” Doom says, rapping hard on the tank. “Your friend is fine.” He puts a giant hand on Bucky, pinning him completely flat on his belly, legs sprawled to the sides. “Hold still, Barnes. This will only take a moment, but it is delicate work. I’d rather not have anything…go wrong.”

Well, _that_ sounds terrifying. Bucky stops struggling, although he does turn his head enough to see what Doom’s doing. He’s got one hand holding Bucky down, while the other is poking at the book he’d brought over.

“Here we go,” Doom says, and he starts chanting in another language. It sounds _wrong_ to Bucky’s ears, the syllables harsh and guttural. It builds in his mind, crescendoing to a point where it’s almost painful, and Bucky lets out a howl, slamming his head down into the desk—

Then it stops.

“Let us see if that worked.” Doom lifts his hand, but Bucky stays pinned down, unable to get his legs under him.

He twists his head to glare at Doom. “How the hell are you doing this?”

Doom claps his hands, somehow managing to look delighted with himself behind a mask. “Excellent. I had to change the wording of the spell; I was unsure if it would work properly in your current state.”’

“Let me up, you bastard,” Bucky snaps. It’s like what Strange did to them in the Tower, when he suspended them in midair. A weight pressing on his back, right between his wings, holding him in place.

“Not yet,” Doom says. “I would like to ask you some questions first.”

Bucky freezes. “You _understand_ me?”

“Yes, Barnes. I told you it was a communication spell.” Doom leans back in his chair. “So now that we can talk like civilized beings, I would like you to enlighten me further as to how you found yourself in this situation.”

“Get Cli—Hawkeye out here first.”

“The archer can stay where he is for the moment. I will not harm either of you. I merely wish to talk.” He presses the tips of his fingers together.

Bucky glares at him, but that’s all he can do. _Fucking useless._ He really wishes he was human, so he could punch this asshole in the face. “Ugh. Fine.”

“Wise choice.” He makes a _go on_ gesture.

“We were picking up the amulet for Dr. Strange,” Bucky says. “In a temple in South America.”

Doom mutters something vaguely uncomplimentary about Strange. “I see.”

“We were at the top of the temple, and there was an altar with some drawings. He wanted to take pictures of them, so he made me climb up the stairs.” Bucky twists to look at Clint. He’s stopped throwing himself around the tank, at least. Now he’s deadly still inside, eyes fixed on Bucky. At that sentence, though, he blinks with amusement.

“Cardio,” he says. “Good for you.”

“And then?” Doom snaps his fingers, pulling Bucky’s attention back.

“And then…” Bucky doesn’t know if dragons can blush, but there’s no denying the flash of embarrassment that sweeps through him. He’s not _ashamed_ , necessarily, but he really didn’t expect to discuss his sex life with Victor von Doom today, either. “We, uh…”

“He sucked my dick,” Clint says. “Right there on the altar, in front of the dragon drawings and everything. And then he fucked me so good I almost passed out, and it was utterly fantastic, and I regret nothing.”

“Hawkeye!” Bucky turns to him.

“What? I don’t. I mean the dragon thing was unexpected and kind of crappy, but the sex _was_ good. And he can’t understand me, anyway. I can say whatever I want.”

Doom is looking back and forth between the two of them. “Something I’m missing?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “We had sex,” he says to Doom. “On the altar. In the temple. And he was wearing the amulet.”

Doom pauses for a moment, and then in a slightly incredulous voice says, “You…had intercourse?”

Clint laughs. “ _Intercourse?_ What is this, the 1950s?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, ignoring Clint. “And then the amulet went all crazy, and I passed out after that. The others brought us back to the Tower.”

“Fooling with magic you do not understand,” Doom says, leafing through one of the books. “You are lucky that this is _all_ that happened. You are both utter idiots.”

“Trust me,” Bucky sighs. “That’s been _well_ established.” He tries to get up again, and is surprised that he can. The pressure is still there, but lessened, and he’s able to shake his wings out and move closer to the tank. He presses his head to the glass. “You okay in there?”

Clint mimics his movement. “Get me outta here, Buck.”

“Working on it.” Bucky turns around to face Doom. “Okay, you got what you wanted. Take him out now.”

“In due course, Barnes, in due course.”

“Take him _out_ , or else I’m gonna set your books on fire.”

Doom sighs. “You are quite attached to him. Was your tryst at the temple merely a thing of opportunity, or are you together?”

Bucky doesn’t really know how to reply to that. Some part of him thinks that telling the bad guy _yes, I need this idiot like I need to air to breathe_ isn’t the best idea, no matter how true it is. So he neither confirms nor denies it. “Just take him out,” he says again, biting off the _please_ threatening to escape.

“I _said_ , in due course. I need to examine you to further understand the machinations of the spell. I would rather not do that while also trying to keep the other one under control.”

He snaps his fingers. Bucky lets out a yelp as his body levitates into the air, unsupported by anything. It’s like what Strange did that first day, and it’s just as unnerving. Bucky kicks the air and snarls at Doom. “Don’t touch me.”

“Do not worry,” Doom says, in a tone that makes Bucky think he should be _very_ worried. “This will only hurt a little.”

He snaps his fingers again. A blue light flares around Bucky, bright and painful and _loud_ somehow. Bucky howls and twists around, unable to form words as the light seems to consume him, molding itself around his body.

The last thing he hears is Clint screaming his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Doom says, although he sounds way too gleeful about it to really be believable. Bucky swallows nervously as he reaches for the lid of the tank.
> 
> “Bucky,” Clint says, looking over at him. He sounds scared again, and Bucky’s little dragon heart twists in apprehension. “No matter what he does to me, you can’t do it, okay? We can’t let him have that thing.”

“Bucky.”

There’s something nudging at him. He groans and pulls away.

“ _Bucky_.” The voice is familiar, and worried. “Hey. Please wake up.”

“Don’t wanna.” He want to stay here and sleep forever. Everything _hurts_.

There’s a little laugh at the sound of his voice. “I know, Buck. Can you try? Please?”

Bucky groans and blinks one eye open. His vision swims a little before coming into focus. “Clint?”

“Yeah. It’s me.” He sounds utterly relieved.

Bucky opens his other eye and looks around. “We’re still dragons,” he says.

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.” Clint gently bumps Bucky’s jaw. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“I feel like shit.”

Clint huffs out a laugh. “Not surprised.” He lays his head on Bucky’s, curling close enough to wrap a wing around him. “It didn’t look fun, whatever he did.”

“It hurt.”

“I could tell.” His voice is tense, and worried, and more than a little angry. “You were screaming.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the hell are you sorry for?”

“It scared you.”

“Yeah, but that’s not _your_ fault. That masked asshole is the one who did it.” Clint pulls him closer.

“What happened? I just remember the light, and then passing out.”

“Some kind of weird spell thing. He wouldn’t tell me exactly. Just said something creepy about how you were what he’s been waiting for, and then dropped you back in here. You’ve been out for about ten minutes.”

Bucky groans softly. “I’m what he’s been waiting for? That’s horrifying.”

“Definitely.”

“Where did he go, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he went to use his evil bathroom or something.”

Bucky sighs. “I’m _really_ over this dragon shit, man.”

“You and me both.”

“Where do you think the others are?”

There’s a long pause, and then Clint says, “I don’t know.”

He sounds scared, almost, or maybe just more worried. Bucky feels the same way. Doom’s not exactly the worst villain they’ve ever had to battle, but he’s still pretty far up there in terms of danger. It wouldn’t be beyond his capabilities to hurt the team to the point where they couldn’t come after Clint and Bucky. That’s the only reason he can think of that they would be taking so long.

“Well,” Bucky says, trying for a little levity, “I think we’ve learned an important lesson here.”

“Thou shalt not fuck in magic temples?”

He laughs. “No. Well, yes. But also next time Nat tells us to stay home, we stay home.”

“We _really_ should listen to her more often,” Clint agrees. “She’s smarter than us.”

“Because she’s not collectively sharing a single brain cell with another idiot.” Bucky turns his head to get a little more comfortable. Despite having just woken up from…whatever just happened, he’s tired. His eyes are already starting to close.

Clint gently nudges him. “You can sleep, Buck. I got your back.”

“Okay,” Bucky mutters. “Hey. Clint.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not leaving me.”

Clint lets out a soft huff. “I would _never_.” He gently rubs his jaw on Bucky’s head. “I told you from the beginning, man. You wanted me, you got me. You’re stuck with me for good.”

“I know, doll. I just…I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Clint hums quietly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Doom comes back later and drops a second, smaller tank on the desk. Bucky jumps awake at the heavy thud. “How are you feeling, Barnes?”

Bucky winds his tail around Clint’s. “I feel like shit,” he says. “What the hell did you do?”

“Just an examination. I warned you it would hurt, although I do apologize for the intensity of it. That should not have to happen again.” He sits in his chair and drums his fingers on the desk.

“It’s not _going_ to happen again.”

“Mm.” Doom waves a non-committal hand. “In any case, I believe I learned what I needed. The spell is a complicated one, but ultimately reversible.”

Clint picks his head up. “Reversible?”

Doom notes his interest. “Yes, Hawkeye. I believe I have a solution to return you to your previous form.”

“Well that’s the first good news I’ve heard all day,” Clint says. “Tell him to get to it so I can punch him in the face. We can still light his cape on fire the old-fashioned way.”

“What, with matches?”

“No, with explosive arrows. Don’t you know me at all?”

Bucky chuckles and turns his attention to Doom. “So you can reverse this, huh?”

“I can,” Doom says. “And I will.” He pauses, then adds, “For a price, of course.”

Clint scoffs. “Wow. What a shocker.”

“For a price?”

“Yes.” Doom leans forward. “I have a certain…job, shall we say. A task that needs to be done. One that requires more finesse than my robots can provide.” He leans forward. “I would like you to complete it for me, Barnes.”

Bucky stares at him. “ _Sorry?_ ”

“This is the deal I am offering you,” Doom says. “I will return you to your human form. You will complete this task for me. Upon your successful return, I will restore your…” He gestures at Clint. “Whatever he is.”

“I’m his boyfriend, you jackass,” Clint growls. “Get with the times.”

“What kind of job?” Bucky asks.

“Oh no,” Clint says. “You’re not considering anything he says.”

“I’m just asking. Let me up.”

Clint curls tighter around him. “ _No._ ”

“Clint.” Bucky nudges at him. “It’s okay. Let me up.”

He growls, but reluctantly loosens his grip until Bucky can extract himself. Bucky wriggles out from under him and turns to face Doom. “What kind of job?”

“It is a simple one,” Doom says. “Similar to your mission for Dr. Strange, in fact. There is an artifact that I would like to have. It was in my possession, once upon a time. Then it was stolen from me.” He taps the tank right at Bucky’s nose. “I would like you to get it back.”

“Why?”

“Because it is rightfully mine, among other reasons.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Clint says.

Bucky agrees. “What’s the artifact?”

Doom opens one of his books, then holds it up to the tank. Bucky squints at the page. “The Wand of…Wattomb?”

Clint snickers. “Never mind. That officially takes the prize of dumbest name in the room.”

Bucky keeps reading down the page, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he does so. “This is…”

“It is power, Barnes. Or rather, a way to focus power. It allows the user to enhance and focus mystical energies.” Doom sets the book down. “There are at least six of them, each with their own particular uses. The one I want is currently on the west coast of the United States, in the hands of Madam Masque.”

_Aw, shit._ “Madam Masque? Seriously?”

“Yes. I believe you are all familiar with her.”

“Very much so,” Clint says, shuddering a little. “Scary, scary lady. She’s got a whole thing with cigarettes that’s just fucking terrifying.”

Doom knocks on the glass. “Pay attention.”

“I _am_ paying attention.” Bucky reads the rest of the page. “Okay, so scary mask lady stole the magic wand from you, and you want it back. Why can’t you go get it yourself?”

“Do not be ridiculous, Barnes. I cannot just stroll into Madam Masque’s house and steal from her.”

Bucky laughs. “What, and you think I can?”

“I think you _will_ , given the right incentive.” Doom gestures to Clint. “I give you my word that when you return to me with the Wand, I will restore the archer to his human state as well.”

“No offense,” Bucky says, “but your _word_ doesn’t mean shit to me.”

“That is understandable,” Doom says. “But it does not change the terms of our agreement. You _will_ get me what I want, Barnes. Or the archer will suffer the consequences.”

Bucky crouches lower and flares his wings out, glaring at Doom. “Don’t you fucking touch him.”

Doom sighs. It’s very much an exasperated parent kind of sigh, and it annoys Bucky almost more than everything else. “Barnes.”

“I’m dead serious, Doom. If you lay a single finger on him, I will bite it off and shove it up your—”

“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Doom says, although he sounds way too gleeful about it to really be believable. Bucky swallows nervously as he reaches for the lid of the tank.

“Bucky,” Clint says, looking over at him. He sounds scared again, and Bucky’s little dragon heart twists in apprehension. “No matter what he does to me, you can’t do it, okay? We _can’t_ let him have that thing.”

Doom pulls the lid off and that weight comes back, pressing them down to the floor where they can do nothing but struggle. Doom casually reaches in and picks up Clint this time. Then he replaces the lid and drops Clint onto the desk.

Bucky hurls himself against the glass, but it’s still too thick. All he can do is watch as Doom puts Clint on the desk and holds him down with one heavy hand. Clint gets a couple good bites in, but Doom doesn’t appear to notice the fangs sunk into his fingers. “First,” he says, “let us talk with each other.”

He does the chanting communication spell. It looks just as terrifying from this side of it. Clint clenches his jaw shut and doesn’t scream, although Bucky suspects that’s more for _his_ benefit than any display of toughness.

When the spell’s done, Clint shakes his head and looks up at Doom. “Not that _that_ wasn’t delightful, but I think next time I’ll take the beach vacation instead.”

“Quiet,” Doom orders him.

“Ooh, buddy. If you wanted me to be quiet, you shouldn’t have magicked me into talking.” Clint lets out a jet of fire, which Doom immediately swats out. “I have no idea when to shut up, you can ask any of my friends.”

“He doesn’t,” Bucky agrees. “It’s both endearing and annoying.”

“You say the sweetest things.” Clint’s voice is amused, but his body is still tense. “Alright, Shredder. What now? We gonna hang out? Read magic books together? Or is this the part where you brutally torture me?”

“Yes,” Doom says simply, and Clint’s mouth snaps shut at the word. “I assure you, archer, I take no enjoyment in this. But I must have the Wand.” He levitates Clint into the air, slowly spinning him. Then he looks back at Bucky. “Last chance, Barnes.”

“Don’t do it,” Clint says to him. “Don’t you fucking dare. I can take it.”

“We will see,” Doom says. “Barnes?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. His eyes are fixed on Clint, who’s staring at him with a determined expression. “I can’t,” he says to Doom, hating himself for the words. “I’m not doing it, Doom. I _won’t_ do it.”

Doom sighs. “We will see,” he says again, and manipulates his fingers as a blue light gathers in his palm.

* * *

Clint keeps his jaw clenched for the first few minutes, but then Doom splays his hand a certain way, and it rips a _horrible_ , animal-sounding howl from him, accompanied with a stream of fire. It’s the worst thing Bucky’s ever heard in his life, and he throws himself against the glass. “Clint! _Clint!_ ”

Doom pauses at that. “Clint?”

“That’s…my name,” Clint says between gasps. “Don’t…wear it…out.”

Bucky can’t even bring himself to care that he just blew Clint’s cover. “Let him go!”

“Are you going to do what I ask?”

“Let him _go!_ ”

“That is not an answer, Barnes.”

Clint twists his head and lets loose a torrent of fire, actually managing to catch Doom’s wrist. The masked asshole snarls in annoyance and pats it out with his other hand. “Now, now. Let’s keep things civilized.”

He does that _thing_ again, ripping another scream out of Clint, and Bucky throws himself at the glass. There’s nothing else he can do in here. He’s absolutely _useless_ , unable to to do anything except pace and watch while his boyfriend is tortured because of him.

Doom drops Clint onto the table. “Had enough, Barnes?”

Clint coughs out something, the words disappearing into a haze of smoke. Doom tilts his head. “Say that again, archer?”

“I said,” Clint says, voice louder but still shaky, “that you’re a fucking liar.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Clint rolls onto his side. “You’re _definitely_ enjoying this.”

“Perhaps a small amount,” Doom admits. “Out of all the Avengers, I find you the most…irritating.”

“Really? Even more than Hulk?”

“Yes. He is nothing more than a brute. Easily dispatched. You are more…persistent.”

“Told you so.” Clint slowly slithers over to the glass, pressing a wing against it. “You okay?”

Bucky lets out a hysterical laugh. “You’re asking me if _I’m_ okay?”

“Yeah, I—” He cuts off with a little shriek as Doom reaches out and pulls him backwards by his tail. “You _asshole_ , let me go!”

Doom slams him onto his belly, holding him in place with one hand. With his other, he reaches out and pulls one of Clint’s wings open. “You know,” he muses, “I’m curious how an injury here would translate over to your other body.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Clint snarls, trying and failing to pull his wing back in. “You have no idea the kind of _hurt_ that’s coming your way when we get out of here.”

Doom probes at it. “An interesting experiment,” he says. He shifts his grip on Clint, pinning his wing with one hand. With the other he reaches into his robes and pulls out a knife. “I look forward to seeing the results.”

The blade descends towards Clint’s wing, and there’s no snarky comment for it this time, no quipping, no joke. Clint just thrashes in a desperate, terrified struggle, and _that_ more than anything shatters the last of Bucky’s resistance.

“Stop!” Bucky shouts, and he puts his forelegs up against the glass. “Doom!”

Doom pauses, the knife barely a hair’s breadth from Clint’s wing. “Something you’d like to say, Barnes?”

Clint twists his head. “Bucky,” he says. He’s trying to be steady, Bucky can tell, but there’s too much panic in his voice to really achieve it. “ _Don’t_.”

“I’ll do it,” Bucky says, eyes on the knife. “Just—just let him go. Don’t hurt him. I’ll do it.”

He can’t see under the mask, but from the way Doom’s eyes crinkle, he suspects it’s probably an evil smile. “Very good,” he says, and pulls the knife back. “I knew you would come around eventually.”

“Bucky,” Clint says, but that’s all he gets out before Doom presses a finger to his head, and he goes limp.

Bucky flares his wings up. “What the hell did you do?”

“Calm yourself,” Doom says. “He is merely asleep.” He picks Clint up and drops him into the other tank, closing the lid with a snap.

Bucky bites back what he really wants to say, and tilts his head up at Doom. “Fine. Now what?”

“Now I gather the materials I need for the spell.” He taps on Bucky’s tank. “I am going to let you out, Barnes. Do try to contain yourself.”

He opens the lid and Bucky immediately flies out and over to Clint’s tank, landing on the desk. “Hey. Clint. Wake up, sweetheart. Come on.”

“Your sentimentality is touching,” Doom says, sounding irritated. “He is _fine_ , Barnes.”

Clint doesn’t stir, but he’s at least breathing. Bucky rests a claw against the glass and watches the rise and fall of his chest. _Fucking useless,_ he thinks again. _Can’t even protect your own boyfriend. What good are you?_

Doom reaches out. “I need a scale from you,” he says. “Along with some blood.”

“Fine,” Bucky snaps. “Take it. I don’t care.” He doesn’t move.

Doom’s hand smooths over him, then plucks a scale from his hind leg. It _hurts_ , more than the one Strange took. Bucky swallows his snarl of pain and keeps his eyes on Clint. _Hang on. I’ll get us out of this. I won’t let you down again._

The tip of the knife digs into where the scale was. Warm blood drips down Bucky’s leg. “Very good,” Doom says. “See? This does not have to be difficult.”

“Yeah, and what happens _after_ this?” Bucky winces as the knife digs deeper. “That’s my— _ow_ , dammit—my primary concern, here.”

“I told you, Barnes. Bring me back the Wand, and I will release your friend.”

“First of all, I _really_ don’t believe you. And secondly, there’s gotta be more to it than that.”

Doom makes a non-committal sound and pulls the knife out. “Is that what you think?”

“Forgive me for not trusting the goodness of your heart,” Bucky says. “I’m having a little trouble with it after watching you _torture_ my boyfriend.”

“I suppose that is fair.” He gets up and moves around the desk, producing a spray-paint can out of nowhere. Bucky watches, curious despite himself, as he starts to draw symbols on the carpet. “In any case, my word is sincere. When I have what I want, I will restore Hawkeye to his normal form.”

“And then…” Bucky prods.

“And then the three of us will have a discussion,” Doom says. “About your places here. There are other things I could use your talents for. You certainly work well together.”

Bucky doesn’t like the sound of that. “We’re _Avengers_ , Doom. We’re not gonna work for you.”

“Mmm. We shall see.”

“We’re not,” Bucky insists, trying very hard not to think about how easily Doom had gotten him to agree to this. In the back of his mind, he can hear Hydra’s voice whispering about attachments and weak points. _Maybe they weren’t entirely wrong._

_No,_ he tells himself firmly. _They were_.

Clint might be a weak point, but Bucky wouldn’t trade him for the world. He _needs_ Clint. Steve had brought Bucky back from Hydra, but Clint was the the one who’d made life worth living again. He was _normal_ , something Bucky desperately craved in those early days. He did regular things like invite Bucky out for pizza, or teach him to play video games. He took the fractured memories and odd habits in stride, never letting them scare him off. For weeks, he was the only one to treat Bucky like a _person_ instead of something broken.

_You’re not broken,_ he’d said one night when Bucky mentioned it. They were precariously perched on the roof, working their way through Tony’s favorite whiskey. _You’ve been through some shit, that’s all. Takes time to get your head right._

_Aren’t you afraid I’m going to snap and kill you? The rest of them are._

Clint had waved a hand. _I can handle myself,_ he said. _Besides, I’m not scared of you._

_You’re not?_

_With those eyes? No way._ Clint had smiled at him, half-drunk and all honest, and it had stolen Bucky’s breath right out of his chest. _You’re too pretty to be scary._

There’d been a look between them, a moment filled with words neither of them could fully articulate.

Then Clint had leaned partway in, and Bucky met him the rest of the way, and they’d kissed right there on the roof. It was a careful thing. A slow thing. Clint tasted like honey and vanilla on Bucky’s tongue, or maybe that was the whiskey, but either way, it was the best thing Bucky had tasted in a long time.

He'd been drowning since he left Hydra, constantly lost in a sea of memories that didn’t make sense to him. Pulled down by the weight of everyone’s expectations of who he _should_ be, or who they remembered him to be. With a single kiss, Clint dragged him back to the surface, and he was able to _breathe_ for the first time in years.

_See?_ Clint said when they broke apart. _Not scary at all._

_Good to know,_ Bucky had murmured, and they’d kissed again.

Clint had had Bucky’s heart ever since that night, even though it took them a long time to figure that—and themselves—out. They still argue, and they fight over stupid things, and they’re not perfect. But they’re _together_. That’s what matters.

_And we’ll stay that way,_ he promises Clint’s sleeping form. _No matter what else happens. We can figure it out, as long as we’re together._

“I am finished,” Doom says, pulling him out of the memory. “Come over here, Barnes, if you please.”

Bucky shakes himself back into reality and takes one last look at Clint. Then he flies over to Doom. “Where?”

“Right here.” Doom indicates a symbol on the floor and Bucky lands on it, vaguely feeling like he’s about to be part of a sacrifice or a seance. “Now. What is your full name?”

He thinks about myths, suddenly, and folk tales. _Names have power._ A feeling of trepidation settles over him, even though he knows there’s not another a way out of this. “Why?”

“For the _spell_ ,” Doom says, sounding a little annoyed. “I am calling your true form back. I cannot do that if I do not know your true name.” When Bucky still doesn’t answer, he sighs. “You put too much stock in stories, my friend. Knowing your name does not inherently give me power over you.”

Bucky has no idea if he’s lying or not, but what he knows about magic could fill a thimble. So he just shakes out his wings and says, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Very good.” Doom opens one of his books. “This will be unpleasant, James. Try and hold still as much as you can.”

“Great,” Bucky mutters, taking a deep breath. “Looking forward to it.”

* * *

_Unpleasant_ is the biggest understatement Bucky’s ever heard in his life. It’s like calling a flood just a bit of rain, like referring to Antarctica as chilly, like saying the surface of the sun is slightly warm. Bucky went through _years_ of physical and mental torture with Hydra. He fell out of a train and lost an entire arm. He had his memories scrubbed out of his head by advanced electroshock therapy, for fucks sake.

But this—

This makes all of that look like a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Part of his brain is hazily aware that he’s screaming, practically shredding his throat with it. The rest of it is focused on the sheer, overwhelming, horrific _pain_. It’s like an explosion in every atom, every cell of his body going nuclear all at once. He’s _consumed_ by it. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think, he’s nothing but fire and flames and death and destruction—

And then it’s over.

Bucky gasps for air like a drowning man, coughing his way back to reality. His mouth tastes like blood, and he rolls onto his side, spitting it onto the carpet. “Christ…”

“There,” a voice says, sounding overly pleased with itself. “That appears to have worked _quite_ well.”

_It did?_

The pain is gone, but the sense-memory of it is still there. It pounds in his head like a sledgehammer. Bucky groans and reaches up to rub at it—

With his hand.

His human hand.

_Holy shit._

Bucky shoves himself upright, ignoring the flare of pain in his head, and frantically pats all over himself with trembling hands. “I’ve got _legs_ ,” he says, staring at his bare skin. “And—and hands, and fingers, and…” He checks between his legs, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Yes,” Doom says. “You’re all there, completely intact.” He throws something at Bucky. Black shirt, black pants. “Dress yourself, please.”

Bucky presses a hand to his heart, closing his eyes at the reassuring thump of it. He’s never been so glad to be human in his entire life. Even the sight of his metal arm sends relief down his spine. “I’m _back_ ,” he says, and he’s surprised to find tears welling up.

“None of that now,” Doom says. “Pull yourself together.”

Bucky swipes at his eyes and yanks the clothes on while sitting, rocking to get them over his hips. There's a wound on his thigh—probably from the knife Doom had used—but it's already healing, more of a throb than anything really painful. Bucky eases the pants over it, then gingerly pushes himself to his feet. It’s odd to be standing after a week of crawling on all fours, and he has to brace himself on his knees for a few moments before getting fully upright.

Clint is awake now, yellow eyes wide. Bucky stumbles over to the desk and presses his hand to the glass. “Hey,” he says. “Hey, doll.”

“Oh my god,” Clint says. He sounds…different. Not like his normal voice. There’s a hint of a growl underneath it, something he’d never noticed while they were both dragons. “Bucky. Are you okay? That looked…not fun.”

“I’m…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’m here?”

“I can see that.” Clint lets out a shaky, but relieved laugh. “What’s it like to have opposable thumbs again?”

Bucky grins at him. “It’s nice,” he says. “Means I can do shit like this.” He reaches for the tank lid, intending to pop it off and get Clint out of there.

Except as he reaches for it, there’s a green flash of light, and a feeling like lightning arcing through his hands. He yanks them back. “Hey!”

“Not yet,” Doom says mildly, lowering his hands.

Bucky scowls at him. “Let him out, Doom.”

“When you return with the Wand, and not a moment before then. The archer is my leverage, James. You know how this works.”

He does, but that doesn’t stop him from hating it. He presses his hand back against the glass, feeling the little thump as Clint puts a claw up to match him. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll go get your stupid artifact.” He flexes his metal hand. “If you harm a single scale on him, I will rip that stupid mask off your face and beat you to death with it. Clear?”

Doom has that amused air about him again, and Bucky hates it. “Yes, you’ve made yourself clear.” He clears his throat. “I will warn you, however, that should you attempt to contact the Avengers and tell them of what is occurring, your…boyfriend will be the one to pay for it. And I _will_ know if you do so, James. Do not test me.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky snaps. “It’s Barnes to you.” He looks at his bare feet. “I’m gonna need shoes. And a weapon. And a way to get there.”

“I will provide everything you need.” Doom gestures towards the door. “Come. You seem eager to leave, and I am eager to have my artifact back.”

Bucky doesn’t move. “What are you gonna do with him while I’m gone?”

“Nothing nefarious, Barnes. I will move him to more comfortable quarters and leave him to his own devices. We will not even need to interact unless he doesn’t behave himself.”

“Gonna light your stupid cape on fire,” Clint tells him, and Bucky hides a smile.

He kneels down until he’s on Clint’s level, keeping his hand on the glass. “As fun as that would be,” he says, “don’t do it. If I’m gonna go on this mission alone, I need to know you’re safe here. Please don’t do anything…stupid.”

“Stupid things are my usual M.O.," Clint says, "but I'll try to keep it in check for you."

Bucky laughs and leans forward until his forehead is against the tank. “I love you,” he says, and Clint flares his wings in agreement.

“As touching as this is,” Doom says, impatience leaking into his voice, “I would like to move on.”

“Wow,” Clint says. “Moment killer.” He pulls back from the glass. “Go, Buck. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky stands up. “If you hurt him,” he starts again, and Doom waves a dismissive hand.

“Yes, yes. I’m aware of all your threats. Can we dispense with the posturing and move on?” He gestures at the door.

Bucky swallows. “Bye,” he says to Clint, taking one last look. Then he follows Doom out the door, trying to shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. _Nothing about this is going to end well._

Two days later, he’s trapped in Madam Masque’s house, the Wand in one hand, a gun in the other, and the sinking feeling worse than ever. “I knew it,” he says, debating whether he wants to jump out the window or bust his way back through the door. “I _fucking_ knew it.”

“Knew what?” asks a silky voice in his ear, and Bucky whirls, striking out with his left arm. Someone ducks it. A woman with dark hair and a yellow mask. The Madam herself, backing up out of his reach. She tilts her head at him, body language screaming that she’s ready for a fight.

“That this wasn’t going to end well,” Bucky tells her.

“You _are_ a smart boy,” she purrs, and then his world goes blank after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky flicks his tail away. “Stop it. Let me finish, it’s important.” He waits a moment, and Clint settles, having apparently gotten it out of his system. “So she caught me. Tied me to a chair in her freaky sex dungeon. And then—I will give you details _later_ , stop looking at me like that—we talked for a little bit, and we kind of came up with a plan.”
> 
> Clint tilts his head. “What kind of plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [THERE IS NOW LOVELY ART FOR THE DRAGON CUDDLES SCENE AT THE END](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/post/622641103789817856/not-the-blue-dragonclint-and-bucky-from-the) drawn by the lovely [not-the-blue](https://not-the-blue.tumblr.com/).

Bucky wakes up tied to a chair with a pounding headache, and tries to remember the last time he actually woke up from _sleeping_ and not from being knocked out. “Bullshit,” he mutters, words thick in his dry mouth.

Gentle fingers press under his chin. “What was that, darling?”

“Bullshit,” he repeats, forcing his eyes open.

“What is?”

“Everything.” His vision comes back into focus, and he shakes his head a little to clear it. There’s a distinct fuzziness that he can tell is drug-induced. “Where am I?”

“My pain room,” Masque says, her voice clear underneath the golden mask. “You are a handsome boy, aren’t you? I cannot wait to see what you’re made of.”

“Have fun with that,” Bucky tells her, shaking his head again. He _hates_ drugs. Hates how they blur his thinking. He needs to be sharp right now. Clint is counting on him.

“Oh, I intend to.” Her fingers trail along his neck, and he tenses.

“Where’s the Wand?”

“Safe, for the moment.” Masque pats his cheek, then walks around him. “So, handsome boy. Let’s talk.”

Bucky picks his head up, trying to blink away the fuzziness of the drugs. _Get it together, Soldier._ His ankles, legs, arms, and chest are tied pretty securely to a chair, although he’s pretty sure he could bust out of it in a pinch. They took his gloves for some reason, but he’s got the rest of his clothes, at least.

The room itself is…interesting. The walls are covered in a dark maroon fabric, and there’s a red door directly in front of him. There’s a velvet armchair to his left that Masque is tugging closer to him. To his right are two racks sitting on top of a desk—lawn ladders, he thinks at first, but no. They’re too skinny, and there’s _things_ hanging off them.

He squints at them, willing his vision to clear. Then it does, and he immediately wishes it hadn’t. “Uh…”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Masque says, pulling the chair in front of him. “I won’t have to use those, unless you’re not a good boy for me.” She chuckles and pats his cheek again. “Do they shock you, _mon chéri?_ ”

Bucky pulls his attention back to her. “No,” he says, his voice rough as he gets himself under control. “What, you think I’ve never seen whips before?”

“Your blushing would indicate otherwise.”

“It wasn’t what I was expecting,” he admits.

“Oh? And what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know.” He looks around, taking in the rest of the room. There’s a giant bed behind him, a big, four-poster monster with a deep black comforter. Above him, there’s some kind of metal grate set into the ceiling. Bucky stares at it for a moment, a little disconcerted by the fuzzy handcuffs dangling from it. “A single lightbulb and a concrete floor? Not a…” He indicates the room with his head. “Whatever this is.”

“I told you, darling. This is my pain room.”

“Okay, your sex dungeon. Whatever.” Bucky tugs at his restraints. “Where’s the Wand?”

“Safe, like I said.” She leans back in the chair, draping a leg over its armrest. It’s a very deliberately casual way of sitting, one that _might_ be distracting if he was into psycho women who covered their faces. “Why were you trying to take it?”

Bucky pulls at the ropes again. “I need it.”

“It’s a lot of power for one little boy.” Her voice is practically dripping with amusement. “I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“It’s not for me,” he says, getting slightly worried as the ropes refuse to give. _Come on, universe. Let one good thing happen to me._

“Oh? Who is it for?”

He sighs and stops tugging, resigned to the fact that he’s going to sit here unless she decides to let him up. _Getting really sick of being helpless._ “Look, I just need it, okay? Someone’s counting on me.”

Masque chuckles quietly. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

She puts her foot on his thigh, sliding it up into more personal territory. “Tell me all about it, darling. I admit to being very curious. You certainly got further than I had anticipated you might. You must have been very determined.”

Bucky squirms, but he can’t really get away from her touch. “Stop it,” he says, trying to scoot backwards.

“Mmm.” She doesn’t. “Tell me.”

“No.”

Her eyes flash behind the mask. “I’m being nice,” she says, and her tone suddenly reminds him of Natasha, when she’s angry and forcing herself to be calm. “I don’t have to be nice, love. I could be taking you apart right now. I could _force_ you to tell me.”

“So why don’t you?”

She shrugs. “I wanted to keep things…civilized. For the moment.” She studies him for a moment, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. “Do you smoke?”

“Not since 1945,” Bucky tells her, and she tilts her head a little bit at him.

Then she shrugs again and pulls one out, moving so she’s sitting upright in the chair. “I don’t either, to be perfectly honest. I quit many years ago. But for moments like this…” She lights it, watching the smoke curl from the tip. “I find them to be useful.”

“You’re wearing a mask,” Bucky points out. “How the hell are you gonna smoke that?”

“I told you,” she says. “I quit.”

Then she leans forward, and stabs it out on the back of his flesh hand.

Bucky chokes, leaning forward in his restraints. He doesn’t scream. It’s not the first cigarette he’s ever had stubbed out on him, but it’s a unique kind of pain, and he’d forgotten the intensity of it. “Fuck!”

“Perhaps,” Masque says, removing the cigarette and relighting it. She examines the wound with gloved fingers. “So. Have you changed your mind about talking with me?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “I need the Wand,” he says to the ceiling.

“We established that, love. Tell me why.”

He sighs. “Does the name Victor von Doom ring a bell?”

It does, obviously, based on her reaction. She snarls and stands up, then leans over him. Her hand winds into his hair and she yanks his head backwards, then holds the cigarette terrifyingly close to his right eye. “Think _very_ carefully about your next words,” she hisses. “Because if I do not like your answer, this mask will be the last thing you ever see.” She leans closer.

Bucky tries not to focus on the cigarette. “Doom sent me,” he says, leaning away as much as he can. “I’m an Avenger. He’s got my…teammate. Hawkeye. He won’t let him go until I bring the Wand back for him.”

Masque studies him for a moment, then she lets go. Bucky lets out a relieved breath as she steps away, cigarette dangling loosely between her fingers. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Look, I wouldn’t have come here otherwise. I don’t have any problem with you.” That’s a lie, technically, but he’s not going to squabble with her about her psycho plans right now. “I need to take the Wand back to him and save my friend. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

Masque makes a non-committal noise and sits back down in her chair. “You must like Hawkeye very much, to risk coming here.”

Bucky shrugs, trying to keep his face stoic. “He’s a teammate.”

“Mmm.” She rolls the cigarette between her fingers. “It’s touching, my dear, but unfortunately, I cannot let you have the Wand. It is not the kind of thing I really want in Doom’s hands.”

“I agree with you,” Bucky says. _It’s also not the kind of thing we want in yours, honestly._ “But I have to help him, and I can’t exactly go back empty-handed.” He leans forward, highly aware of what a tightrope he’s walking. “Maybe there’s a way we can both get what we want.”

She tilts her head. “I’m listening.”

“You don’t want him to have the Wand. I don’t want him to have the Wand. But I have to give him _something_. Is there some way we can fake it? Give him a replica or something? Then you get to keep the real thing, Hawkeye gets to be human again, and then we can all go back to hating each other like normal.”

Masque is quiet for a long moment, and then she says, “Human _again_?”

“He’s…kind of a dragon right now,” Bucky says. “It’s…it’s a story.”

She laughs. “Intriguing. How exactly does one become a dragon?”

Bucky sighs. “I don’t really want to get into it.”

“We have time.” Her voice is amused. “Or rather, I have time. I can wait.”

He sighs again. _Not worth the argument._ “We, uh…” He winces as his face heats up, which only makes the whole thing worse. “We might have had sex in a magic temple.”

She blinks at him. Then she bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry, you _what?_ ”

“We had sex in a magic temple,” Bucky repeats, blushing even harder.

“And what possessed you to do that, love?”

“It was his idea.” Bucky clears his throat. “No matter what he says. It was absolutely, totally his idea.”

“I see,” she says. She’s still laughing. “And that was enough to cause a spell, was it?”

“He might also have been wearing a magic amulet,” Bucky says, resigned to the idea that two supervillains now know embarrassing things about his sex life. “It kind of…went off when we were, uh, done. Turned us into dragons.”

Masque chuckles. “And how did you come into Victor’s employment?”

Bucky notes the first-name basis and tucks it into the back of his mind to study for later. “We were fighting Doom with the other Avengers, and he grabbed the pair of us. Put us in a tank. Then he turned me back, said he needed me to come here and get the Wand. He says he won’t help Hawkeye unless I bring it to him. Which circles me back to my original point. Can we fake it or something?”

She taps her finger on the velvet of the chair. After a long moment, she finally says, “Interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“I wasn’t aware that you and Hawkeye were…together,” she says. “I always assumed that he and Black Widow were a couple.”

“No, they’re just good friends. Can we focus?”

She taps the cigarette, sprinkling ashes on the velvet of her chair. “Answer me this, then, since I have you here. Your leader, Captain America. Are he and Iron Man…?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Does it matter? Is there some supervillain blog about who we’re all fucking?” Masque doesn’t answer, and he sits up a little straighter. “Oh, my god. There is, isn’t there?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well.” Bucky taps his fingers on the chair, not really sure what to think about that. “ _That’s_ disturbing to hear.”

“Answer the question, boy.”

“How the hell should I know?” He shakes his head. “Look, can we figure this out first? You help me get my boyfriend back in one non-dragon piece, and I’ll send you an extensive list of who’s doing who when it’s all over. Got it?”

Masque sets the cigarette down. “You are right. We should focus.”

“ _Thank_ you.” Bucky tugs at the ropes. “Do you think you could untie me now, maybe?”

“I could.” But she doesn’t. She gets up instead, and walks over to the racks. Bucky swallows nervously as she drags her fingers across a leather riding crop. But all she does is utter a low laugh, and then pulls open one of the desk drawers. She takes out a slim black box and holds it up for him to see.

“That’s the Wand?”

“That’s the Wand.” She sets it on the desk and faces him. “Now. You said something about a replica?”

* * *

Twenty-four hours after he entered Madame Masque’s mansion through a window, the woman herself personally escorts Bucky out of it through the front door. Bucky looks at the night sky and officially labels this as the weirdest fucking week of his life.

“You’re sure Doom won’t notice this isn’t the real thing,” he says, clutching the box in his metal hand and a teleportation disk in the other. “I’ve got a lot riding on this.”

“He will not,” she says. “I hope.”

“You inspire _so_ much confidence,” Bucky mutters. “And you’re clear on the rest of the plan?”

“Yes, darling. I will contact the Avengers as soon as you go.”

“Make sure you tell them exactly what I told you,” he says. “I mean _exactly_ , down to the—”

Masque puts a gloved finger over his lips. “Hush,” she says. “Trust me to do my part, and I will trust you to do yours.”

Bucky steps back from her touch and fingers the disk. “This doesn’t make us friends,” he says. “You and me. Or you and the Avengers. We’re still coming after you the next time you pull anything evil.”

Her eyes flash with amusement. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Bucky drops the teleportation disk on the ground. “I hate teleporting,” he grumbles to no one in particular as it unfolds. “Forcible rearrangement of intestines, more like.”

“Have fun,” Masque says, waving her fingers at him. He’s pretty sure she’s smiling, although he can’t really tell. _I gotta quit hanging out with people in masks._

He waves back, then steps onto the disk and closes his eyes. There’s a flash of light as it activates, and a feeling of falling, and a swell of nausea—

Latveria materializes before him, the brightness of the teleport giving way to the darkness of the castle. Bucky steps off the disk as soon as he’s fully back together, then bends over and heaves his guts out on Doom’s pristine lawn.

“Lovely,” Doom says, appearing out of the blackness.

“I _hate_ teleporting,” Bucky mutters. He kicks the disk in Doom’s direction as it folds back up.

“Yes, I can see that.” He leans over and picks it up, slipping it into his pocket. “Did you do as I instructed?”

Bucky waves the box at him. “One magic wand, express delivery.”

“Express is not the word I would use.” Doom holds out his hand. “Considering I sent you out three days ago.”

Bucky steps back, tucking the box into his jacket. “No way. Clint first.”

“Hawkeye is fine, Barnes. Give it to me.”

“Nope. No magical toys for you until my boyfriend has opposable thumbs again.”

Doom’s eyes narrow behind the mask, but Bucky stands his ground. This is the only leverage he has over Doom, and he’s sure as hell not giving it up.

“Fine,” Doom eventually says, and he gestures for Bucky to follow. Bucky’s pretty sure Doom could just magic the Wand away from him, but apparently he’s decided that there’s some benefit to having Bucky’s cooperation. “Come, then, if you’re finished ruining my lawn.”

Bucky spits one more time for good measure, then troops after Doom. He’s _tired_. He hasn’t really slept since he left here, what with breaking into mansions and making replica Wands and being worried for Clint. His eyes feel gritty. It’s not the longest he’s ever been awake, but he’s not really used to doing this anymore, either. He rubs at them with the back of his hand and fights a yawn.

Doom looks sideways at him as they enter the mansion. “You are exhausted.”

“No shit,” Bucky mutters, rubbing his eyes again. “What gave it away?”

“You will be able to rest shortly. I have a place prepared for you.”

“You know, it’s really sad that that’s _not_ the creepiest thing I’ve heard in the last twenty-four hours.” He looks around, carefully counting the number of Doombots on guard, and is less than thrilled with the result. 

Doom chuckles quietly. “I must say,” he says. “The more I speak with the both of you, the more obvious it is that you are together. You sound very similar to each other.”

Bucky’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but then Doom is opening a door for him, and he doesn’t really care anymore. It’s an _enormous_ bedroom—like, bigger than Bucky and Clint’s apartment enormous— all nice and fancy. Bed, wardrobe, nightstands, windows with obnoxiously expensive draperies.

A giant glass tank is taking up most of the free space on the floor. It’s almost as tall as Bucky, and spans most of the room’s space. It’s like a zoo habitat, almost, with rocks and plants and a little pond on the floor. A heating lamp dangles about three feet off the floor on the left side. Curled up underneath it, back to the glass, is a small purple dragon.

“Clint,” Bucky says, sagging in relief. He hurries over to the tank and drops to his knees, pressing his hands against the glass.

At the sound of his voice, Clint raises his head and blinks at him, then lets out a little stream of fire. “Bucky!”

“Hey sweetheart,” Bucky says, letting out a little laugh as he leans his forehead against the glass. “Hey. I’m back. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Clint flares his wings and puts his forelegs up on the glass. “Oh my god, Buck, I was freaking out. I thought you were dead or something, holy shit. What happened?”

“It took a little longer than I planned,” Bucky admits. “I ran into some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble? Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” He laughs again. “Fuck, it’s good to see you. I thought about you the whole time.” He looks around for a latch, or some way to open the tank, but there’s nothing.

Clint huffs out smoke. “You look like hell,” he says. “Have you been sleeping?”

“I was a little preoccupied.” Bucky taps his jacket.

“You got it?” Clint’s yellow eyes widen. “Let me see.”

Doom’s hand lands on Bucky’s shoulders. “Barnes.”

Bucky shrugs him off. “Don’t touch me, asshole. Let him out.”

“Give me the Wand, Barnes.”

“Let him out.” Bucky gets to his feet and faces Doom. He’s _really_ not in the mood for this bullshit.

“I grow weary of this discourse, Barnes. You will give me the Wand, or I promise you that your beloved will remain as he is for the foreseeable future. Do we understand each other?”

Bucky looks at Clint, then back at Doom. “Just…let him out of the tank,” he says, too tired to really care about the pleading note that’s crept into his voice. “Okay? Just let me hold him, and I’ll give you the stupid thing. Please?”

Doom lets out a long suffering sigh and makes a gesture towards the tank. The glass _ripples_ , warping like a lake surface after a stone’s throw. Then it vanishes.

Clint doesn’t waste a second. He launches himself at Bucky, landing on his shoulder and curling around him, burrowing underneath the jacket and shirt until he’s on skin. He murmurs Bucky’s name and wraps around his neck.

“Hi,” Bucky whispers, gently rubbing a finger along the scales he can reach. They’re surprisingly warm to the touch. “Hi, sweetheart. Watch the spikes, okay?”

Doom holds out his hand. “Well?”

Bucky reluctantly reaches into his jacket and tosses the box at him with a snapped “Merry Christmas, asshole.” Then he sits down on the bed and reaches up to rub at Clint’s head.

“I missed you,” Clint says in his ear. His tongue swipes over Bucky’s cheek. “I’m _so_ glad you’re alive, you have no fucking idea. What happened?”

“Not now,” Bucky mutters, eyes on Doom. He’s inspecting the Wand with a careful intensity that makes Bucky exceedingly nervous. “I’ll tell you later.”

Doom holds the Wand up to the light. “Exceptional,” he says, and for a moment a moment Bucky thinks the game is up. But then Doom tucks the Wand into his robes and nods. “Well done, Barnes. I appreciate your help.”

“Glad to hear it.” Bucky points at Clint. “Opposable thumbs?”

“Not now.” Doom crosses his arms and glares at them. His posture is suddenly very reminiscent of Nat, and Bucky feels himself quail a little bit at the sight. “I have some things I need to take care of at the moment.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Bucky protests, even though there’s shit-all that he can do about it. “Come on, Doom. You get your thing, I get him back.”

“And you will—“

“If you say the words _in due course_ I will rip your fucking arms off.”

He gets the feeling that Doom is smirking under his mask. “Relax, Barnes. As soon I’ve done what I need to, I will restore Hawkeye to his normal self.” He walks towards the door. “There is a bathroom behind the tank. I would recommend making use of the shower.”

The door slams behind him, and the lock clicks ominously. Bucky scowls after him. “Did he just tell me I smell?”

“You do smell,” Clint says. “You’ve got that _eau du mission_ stink going on.”

“Yeah, well, you smell like a fire,” Bucky retorts. “But you don’t hear me complaining about it.”

Clint chuckles. “Love you too.” He crawls out from under Bucky’s jacket and moves down his arm, flapping his wings to stay balanced. “Tell me what happened.”

Bucky flops backwards on the bed and moves his arm to rest on his chest. “I teleported to L.A.,” he says. “Which sucks, by the way. Teleporting is the worst way to travel, and I’ve been shipped by cargo container.”

“You threw up, huh?”

“So much. On the return trip, too. All over his stupid lawn.”

“Nice,” Clint says, holding up a claw. Bucky high-fives him with a finger. “Did you get his shoes?”

“I wish.” Bucky rubs his eyes. “Anyway. So I got to L.A., spent a couple days scoping out the house and the guards. Figured out the best way to get in. Usual mission stuff, you know. Then I broke in and stole the Wand. Took out a couple security guys.”

“Did you see her? Masque?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s scary. Like, on a scale from Pepper to Nat, she’s like…a seven.”

Bucky nods. “Well, that brings me to the other thing.” He rubs Clint’s jaw again, then furrows his eyebrows. “Are you…purring?”

Clint blinks at him, long and slow. “Maybe. Your point?”

“Nothing.” He smiles. “I kinda like it.”

“I prefer to call it contented rumbling,” Clint says. “Anyway. You saw Masque?”

“I talked to her,” he says. “She uh…she might have caught me when I was leaving.”

Clint huffs out smoke with an amused sound. “She caught you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits. “I tripped an alarm.”

The purring—rumbling, whatever—gets a little louder, and Bucky realizes Clint is laughing. “You’re getting sloppy, old man,” he says, his voice gleeful. “I’m almost embarrassed to know you, pulling amateur shit like that.”

“Fuck you, Barton.”

“I _wish_.” Clint rubs his tail over Bucky’s chest. “It’s been almost a week, you know. I’m getting withdrawals.”

Bucky flicks his tail away. “Stop it. Let me finish, it’s important.” He waits a moment, and Clint settles, having apparently gotten it out of his system. “So she caught me. Tied me to a chair in her freaky sex dungeon. And then—I will give you details _later_ , stop looking at me like that—we talked for a little bit, and we kind of came up with a plan.”

Clint tilts his head. “What kind of plan?”

“She’s supposed to contact the Avengers for me,” he says. “And tell them about the situation, and the deal I made with Doom. I told them to come at midnight.” He looks at his watch. “So only a few hours, now.”

“Wait. They’re coming here?”

“If she held up her end, yes.” Bucky swallows back his fears about that. “So that’s how it’s gonna go. We wait for their signal, then start busting out of here on this end. We take out Doom and his stupid bots. We get you back to being human, and then you and I go sleep for about a week straight. Sound good?”

“Sounds _great_ ,” Clint says with feeling. “Except how sure are you that she’s gonna do what she says? She hates us. The Avengers, I mean.”

“She does,” Bucky agrees. “But she hates Doom more. I think there’s just enough pettiness between them for her to help us out of spite.”

Clint’s wings unfold a little. “I don’t like this,” he says. “Working with supervillains. She’s bad news, Buck.”

Bucky rubs a finger right between Clint’s wings, making him rumble again. “I know, doll. But we don’t really have a choice, here.”

“We could have escaped on our own,” Clint mutters.

Bucky snorts. “Oh, I see. You’re more concerned with being _rescued_ than you are about me working with Masque, aren’t you?”

“I’m equally annoyed with both things,” Clint says haughtily, nose in the air. “She _is_ evil. And we’re competent professionals, you and I.”

“Clint, we fucked in a magic temple and got turned into _dragons_.”

“So we’re competent professionals who occasionally make bad decisions. Just means we’re human.” His head tilts, and then he adds, “Well. _Usually_.”

Bucky snickers. “I missed you,” he says. “Wasn’t a mission without your stupid jokes.”

“Missed you too.”

“What happened here? What did Doom do?”

Clint settles onto his chest. “Nothing, honestly. He pretty much brought me straight in here a couple hours after you left. Since then he’s only really been in to drop off food. Didn’t stick around to chat or anything. Honestly, I think he likes you more than me.”

“That’s because I’m the charming one.”

“What? No, no. _I’m_ the charming one, _you’re_ the dark and scary one. I make people laugh, you make them cringe in fear. This is our _thing_ , Buck. Don’t mess it up.”

“I can be charming,” Bucky says, mildly offended. “I’m not that scary.”

“You’re very scary,” Clint says. “I mean, it’s in a really good, super hot, extremely sexy way. But it’s still terrifying.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “But he didn’t hurt you or anything, did he?”

“Nope. Not a single scale was harmed, as per your request. I’m serious, he hasn’t spoken more than about ten words to me. I think he meant it when he said I annoyed him the most.” Clint huffs. “Whatever. He annoys me too. I probably would have lit his cape on fire if I had to listen to him go on about shit.”

“He’s the worst,” Bucky agrees. “You should have heard him give me the mission briefing. At least Steve gets to the point eventually.” He yawns.

Clint pokes his jaw. “You need to sleep.”

“I need to shower.” Bucky heaves himself off the bed, then changes his mind and flops back down. He feels like he just ran multiple marathons. Or got hit by a bus. Or both. “Maybe after.”

“Sleep,” Clint repeats. “I’ll keep watch or whatever.”

“Sleep,” Bucky mutters. He maneuvers himself completely onto the bed, not even bothering to pull his shoes off. Fuck Doom and his fancy bedspread; Bucky’s gonna get mud everywhere out of pure spite. “Can you wake me up in an hour?”

“Two.” Bucky starts to argue, and Clint narrows his eyes. “Two, I said. You’re tired, and we have the time. _Sleep_.”

“Fine.” He settles onto the bed. “Get off my arm, will you?”

“Sure. Hey, can you take your shirt off?”

Bucky cracks an eye open and blinks at Clint. “Huh?”

“Your shirt,” Clint says. “Will you take it off?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to stare at your magnificent chest while you sleep?” There’s an edge of amusement to his voice. “I’m cold, Buck. You’re hot. I want your body heat.”

Bucky doesn’t really get it, but he obligingly forces himself to sit up. Clint settles on his leg while he wriggles out of his jacket, then yanks the dirty shirt over his head. “Better?” he asks, laying back down.

“What’s that?”

Bucky looks down at the silver pendant around his neck. “Oh. Masque gave it to me. Something about protecting me from spells.”

Clint sounds scandalized. “A supervillain gave you a magic necklace and you just put it on? No questions asked?”

“I didn’t really have a choice, Clint. And you are _so_ not one to talk about wearing magic necklaces.” He flicks Clint’s wing.

Clint starts to argue, then snaps his jaw shut. “That’s fair,” he finally says. “Although mine came from a temple, and not from a psycho masked lady, so I at least had that going for me.”

“She said it would absorb magic. Prevent Doom from casting spells on me or something.”

“And you trust her?”

“No. But I figured it was worth a shot. We’re kind of on Hail Mary time here as is. If there’s a chance it can stop Doom from doing something weird to me, I’ll take it. It’s going to be hard enough to get out of here as is. Might as well take all the precautions I can.”

“I can’t believe she just gave it to you.”

Bucky shrugs and gets comfortable. “I think she likes me, honestly. In a very weird, skin-crawling kind of way.”

“Oh god,” Clint mutters. “Maybe you really are the charming one. Maybe we need to reassess our thing here.”

Bucky snickers and pats his chest. “Get up here.”

Clint treads over his skin, leaving goosebumps where his claws land. He curls up tightly right over Bucky’s heart and lets out another rumbling sound. “Perfect,” he says, opening one eye to look at him. “No complaints if you want to rub my wings, by the way.”

“Only you could make that sound suggestive,” Bucky sighs, but he puts his metal hand over Clint and gently massages the scales between his wings. The rumbling gets louder, a soothing background noise in the silence of the room. It eventually lulls Bucky into a light sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you didn’t have a plan?”
> 
> “I really didn’t. It was more of a half-baked idea.”
> 
> “So what was half-baked idea A?”
> 
> “Walking out the front door.”
> 
> “What’s half-baked idea B?”
> 
> “I’ll let you know when I think of it.”

He feels like he’s barely drifted off when Clint’s poking him awake again. “Get up,” he says, voice low and urgent. “Someone’s coming.” He crawls up to Bucky’s shoulder.

“Wha’ time izzit,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Not that far from midnight, actually. Get _up_ , Bucky. Might be the backup.”

Bucky forces his brain back online, makes his body sit up just in time to see the door slam open. Doom is standing there, of course, in a swirl of robes and fury that’s evident even from under a mask.

“Okay, not the backup,” Clint says, and Bucky makes a mumbling noise in agreement.

Doom holds up the box. “Did you _really_ think I wouldn’t notice, Barnes?”

“Notice what?”

Doom chucks the box at him. Bucky just barely ducks it in time. “You thought you could fool me? _Me?_ I am the most powerful sorcerer in the world!”

Clint snorts a stream of fire. “Buddy, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Look,” Bucky says, holding his hands up. He plays up his exhaustion—easy to do, honestly—and turns it into confusion with a hint of fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I really don’t. That’s the thing I took from Masque. If it’s not what you wanted, then—”

Doom crosses the room in two long strides and grabs Bucky by his throat, yanking him upwards. “Hey!” Clint yells, descending on him, but Doom strikes out with his other hand and sends him flying across the room. He hits the wall with a horrible sounding _thud_ and tumbles to the ground, unmoving.

Something snaps inside Bucky.

The Asset—the part of him he normally keeps tightly under wraps—rears up hard, turning his vision misty red. There’s a roaring in his ears, a furious droning of anger that drowns out everything else. He sees Doom’s eyes widen under the mask. Can practically taste his fear.

_Good._

The Asset is moving before he knows what his body is doing. The motions are embedded in his mind, frightening yet comforting in their familiarity. He breaks Doom’s grip—breaks his wrist, probably—and lets his hands strike without thinking. Doom ends up curled on the floor, choking in pain, and the Asset flips over the bed. He picks up the small dragon in one hand, then turns to face the door.

Doom is on his knees. His mask is slightly askew. “Stop,” he snarls, still a little breathless. “How _dare_ you!”

There is no time for talking. The Asset moves quickly, setting the dragon on the bed and landing another series of blows on Doom that leave him sprawled on the floor. Then he grabs the dragon, kicks open the door, and strides out.

The mist recedes a bit as he looks down at the little body in his hand, and Bucky feels himself come back to the surface. He forces the anger and pain aside, tries to focus on the tiny heartbeat he can feel under his thumb. “Clint,” he says. “Clint, you okay?”

“Not as bad as the tennis racquet,” Clint mutters, but he cracks open an eye and looks at Bucky. The relief at seeing that washes away the rest of the Asset, and Bucky has to take a moment to lean against the wall. “Buck?”

“I’m fine.” He pushes upright. “Lost control for a second. I’m okay.”

“What happened?”

“I punched Doom in the face. A lot. I might have cracked his mask, actually.” He looks down at his metal hand, remembering the sharp snap of the mask under it. “He pissed me off.”

“I take back what I said,” Clint says. “You’re totally the scary one.” He flaps his wings, a little unsteady, and flies up to Bucky’s shoulder. “Okay. So we’re escaping now?”

“Sort of.” Bucky starts walking back along the way Doom had led him to come in. “Except I have no plan, no shirt, and no backup except you. So it’s less of an escape and more like storming away in anger. Which probably isn’t smart.”

Clint huffs out smoke. “Well,” he says. “No one’s ever accused us of being smart.”

Bucky snorts and keeps going. “Ain’t that the truth.”

They make it all the way down the stupidly long hallway, and down the stairs. Then about twenty feet from the front door, a row of Doombots suddenly step in front of it, arms crossed.

“Shit,” Bucky says, skidding to a halt. He turns around, but the other doorway is blocked as well, and the Doombots start to close in, forming a circle. “So much for Plan A.”

“I thought you didn’t have a plan?”

“I really didn’t. It was more of a half-baked idea.”

“So what was half-baked idea A?”

“Walking out the front door.”

“What’s half-baked idea B?”

“I’ll let you know when I think of it.” He turns around and looks up the staircase, the only open path left.

Except it’s not open, because Doom is standing at the top. “Barnes!” he yells, voice furious.

“Ooh, you made him angry.” Clint flares his wings.

“No shit.” Bucky shakes his head. “I was kind of hoping he’d stay down longer than that, though.”

Doom is stalking down the steps towards them, right hand raised and extended towards them. There’s a red light gathering in his palm. “You will regret that,” he says coldly, stopping a short distance away. His mask _is_ cracked; there’s a thin hairline fracture running across the right cheek. Bucky feels a flush of satisfaction at it.

“I’m sure I will,” he sighs, bracing himself for a fight. He forces down the Asset and clenches his fists. “But I did warn you not to hurt him.”

“Trust me,” Doom says, the light in his hand growing brighter. “I will do so much more than _hurt_ him by the time we are through.”

He launches the light at Bucky. Bucky ducks, throwing his arms up over his head as he turns to shield Clint. He braces himself for pain, and—

And nothing.

The light fades away. Bucky straightens up, then looks down at himself. He’s fine. No sign of injury. No marks. He pats a hand over his chest to make sure, then looks up at Doom.

Doom stares at his hand. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Performance issues,” Clint says, poking his head over Bucky’s shoulder. “Happens to every one out of five men, you know. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Doom snaps his head up, eyes narrowed through his mask. Then he focuses on Bucky’s bare chest, and the little silver pendent resting on it. He nods once. “Ah. I should have known. Did Masque give you that?”

“She _really_ hates you,” Bucky says. “Hates you enough to work with me.”

“I’m aware.” Doom straightens up. “Well. You might be protected against magic, Barnes, but magic is not my only course of action.”

Around them, the various Doombots start to close in with deliberate, slow steps. _Shit,_ Bucky thinks, looking around. Even if he lets the Asset out, lets the red mist descend again, he’s not going to punch his way out of this one. There’s too many of them, and he’s not _strong_ enough to do this on his own, not anymore—

“Bucky,” Clint murmurs in his ear, and there’s a gentle nudge to his cheek. “You’re not alone. I’m not leaving you.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. Pushes the panic down. “I know.”

“Stand down, Barnes,” Doom orders. “Stand down, _now_ , before you make things worse for yourself.”

Bucky looks around at the Doombots. Calculates the odds of making it out with both himself and Clint intact. They’re not good. “Okay,” he finally says, showing his hands. It kills him a little to surrender, but the smart part of him knows that’s the best option right now. “Okay. Not fighting.”

“Take off the pendent.”

Bucky reaches for it. Just as his fingers make contact, there’s a thumping noise at the door behind him. Almost like someone’s knocking on it. Then there’s a pause, and then another knock. Insistent this time, like whoever’s outside is impatient.

“You should answer that,” Clint says, putting a claw over Bucky’s hand. “Could be the FedEx guy or something.”

“I don’t…” Doom starts, but he’s interrupted by the doors _blasting_ off their hinges. Bucky yanks Clint off his shoulder and dives to the side, covering his head and curling his body over Clint’s as the explosion rocks through the room.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says, and Bucky uncurls enough to raise his head. He lets out a relieved laugh at the sight of Rhodey, fully decked out in his War Machine armor, standing the wreckage of the front doors. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Actually,” Clint says, poking his head out from Bucky’s arm, “you’re right on time. Maybe even a little early.”

Bucky gets to his fee and waves dust out of his face. “Glad you got the invitation,” he says. “I wasn’t sure she’d pass it along, honestly.”

“Yeah, we weren’t—” He stops and turns his head to the staircase. “You’d better stay down,” he says to Doom. “This is your only warning.”

Doom scoffs. “You Avengers,” he snarls, pushing to his feet. Bucky snickers as he trips over his robes and has to catch himself on the railing. “Always so arrogant. So full of yourselves. You really think you can just burst in here and take what’s mine?”

“You took them first,” Rhodey says. “And they’re not _yours_ , anyway. They’re Avengers.”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “So fuck off.”

Doom finally gets himself upright. “You will regret this,” he snarls, and snaps his fingers. Around them, the Doombots suddenly stiffen, and their eyes glow red.

“Uh,” Bucky says, looking around. “Tell me more backup is on the way.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rhodey says. “I got this.”

He reaches behind his back. Bucky expects a gun, or a bazooka, or something else big and impressive. Instead, Rhodey pulls out a tennis racquet.

Doom tilts his head and scoffs again. “You think this is a game, Avenger?”

“I’m just following instructions,” Rhodey tells him. In his other hand, he holds up something that looks like a tennis ball. Then he tosses it into the air, lunges forward, and smacks it across the room with unerring perfection. Bucky watches, incredulous, as it flies towards Doom. A second before it hits him, it explodes in a burst of light. The light showers over him, settling onto his robes like a hundred fireflies. The Doombots go blank, the red glow fading to nothing.

“What?” Doom says, swatting at his clothes. “What—what trickery is this?”

The lights flare up, bright enough that Bucky has to look away for a moment. When he looks back, Doom is gone.

No. Not gone. His robes are on the floor, and there’s something moving in them. Something small, and green, and—

“Oh my god,” Clint says. “Is that…did you just…”

“Yep,” Rhodey says, clanking over to the pile of cloth. He reaches down into them, fumbling around for a moment, and comes back up with a small green dragon. It’s weakly struggling, wings flapping and nostrils flaring. “Well, not me specifically. Strange did it.”

“I briefly attached a spell to an inanimate object,” says a voice behind them, and Bucky turns to see Strange striding in through the ruined doors. His cape flares behind him, and for a moment Bucky is pretty sure it _waves_ at him. “He has defenses set up against direct magic. This was a way around it. And as I was already studying dragon magic, it just seemed…poetic.” He looks over at Bucky with mild interest. “He turned you back, I see.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, head reeling a bit. He’d been ready for backup, but not like this. “I, uh…”

“Dude.” Clint flies over to Rhodey. “Do you have a Wimbledon trophy we don’t know about? How are you _so_ accurate with tennis racquets?”

“Man’s gotta have his secrets, Barton.” He looks at Bucky. “It was his idea, anyway.”

“What?”

“I didn’t think they’d trust Masque,” Bucky says. “So when I told her to contact the Avengers, I said she had to tell them to bring a tennis racquet.”

“As codes go, it was an interesting one,” Rhodey says. “But we investigated a little more, and realized she was telling the truth.”

“Where’re the others?”

“Taking out the outer perimeter of bots. Now that Doom’s down, they should be along shortly.”

Sure enough, the rest of the team piles through the door a minute later. Clint launches himself at Natasha as soon as she’s in view. “Nat!”

She catches him with one hand and puts him on her shoulder. “Good to see you both,” she says. “Barnes, where’s your shirt?”

“Upstairs. What took you guys so long?”

Tony lands and flips his faceplate up. “Wow, not even a thank you? I’m hurt.”

“Thank you,” Clint says. “But seriously, it’s been three days. What happened to you guys? We were worried."

“Doom pulled some nasty surprises on us.” Tony looks tired as hell. They all do, Bucky notices. As tired and beaten as he feels. “He took out Hulk and Cap both. We had to back off and regroup, get Strange to come help us.”

“We should go,” Strange cuts in. He’s got Doom in some sort of energy cage floating next to him. Doom is struggling and breathing fire, but it doesn’t do any good. Bucky smirks at him. “This transformation will not last, and I’d like to have him contained before it wears off. Are we all ready?”

“Yes,” Nat says. “You guys good?”

“So good,” Clint says, curling around her neck. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

It’s almost anticlimactic, in a way. Strange makes a portal straight to Avengers Tower, and they all troop through it. Strange takes Doom to the Sanctum. Nat throws a towel at Bucky and tells him to go shower.

An hour or so later, Strange returns. “Alright,” he says to Clint. “Come here.”

It takes him less than a minute to turn Clint back into a human. It doesn’t look as painful as Bucky’s transformation was, although judging by Clint’s face afterwards, it certainly wasn’t comfortable. As soon it’s over, Clint pats himself down like Bucky did, then looks up with a grin as Natasha hands him his hearing aids. “Opposable thumbs,” he says, waving his fingers in the air. “How about that.”

Bucky pulls him to his feet and wraps him in a hug. “Looks good on you,” he says, closing his eyes as Clint hugs him back.

“I’m not hugging you until you put pants on,” Nat informs them as she brushes past.

“Breaking my heart,” Clint says, but he pulls back from Bucky and takes the clothes she tosses at him him. “Where are Cap and Hulk?”

“Hulk’s in the Sanctum,” she says. “Cap’s sleeping in his room.”

Clint tugs the pants up. “Are they okay?”

“They will be. Strange said Steve will sleep for another day or so. I don’t know about Hulk, but they’re taking care of him.” She hugs Clint then, and Bucky can tell by the way she leans into him that she was more worried than she let on. Clint must pick up on that too, because he holds her a little longer than he normally would.

When they break apart, she gives Bucky a hug too, then points upstairs. “You guys need to sleep. You both look like hell.”

“So you’re _not_ gonna kick our asses into next year?” Clint asks with a grin. “I seem to recall you threatening that not too long ago.”

“Don’t _remind_ her,” Bucky says, tugging on his arm as Natasha smirks. “Come on. Come sleep with me.”

“Oh, Barnes. You think I’m gonna give it up just because you ask for it, huh?”

Nat rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe I missed you guys,” she says, walking away. Clint laughs and lets Bucky pull him upstairs.

They have their own apartment in the city, but Tony still keeps a room for them here, and Bucky gratefully stumbles into it. “I’m never leaving this bed,” he says as he drops on it. “Never. Gonna stay here forever.”

“No arguments from me,” Clint says. He flops down next to Bucky, haphazardly throwing a leg over him. “Although I do recall something about getting me some shiny purple underwear. Might be difficult to put on a show for you if we’re stuck in bed forever.”

“In six years when we wake up, we can order some online.” Bucky pokes him. “We can skip the show part. They’re just gonna end up on the floor anyway.”

“Compromise. You stay in the bed, I’ll put them on and do some flashy circus moves, and _then_ they can end up on the floor. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Bucky says. He reaches back and pulls Clint’s arm over his chest. “You know, you were cute as a dragon, but I definitely prefer you this way.”

“I was an _adorable_ dragon.” Clint moves closer to him, practically plastering himself to Bucky’s spine. “But yeah, I like you better this way too.” His hand slides under Bucky’s shirt. “For multiple reasons.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Bucky mutters. He catches Clint’s hand and pulls it out, then presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Let me sleep, doll.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Clint chuckles. “Fine.”

Bucky’s half-asleep when his phone buzzes. “Go away,” he mumbles, digging it out of his pocket. He goes to drop it on the nightstand, but Clint picks it out of his hand before he can do anything. “Hey!”

“Bucky,” Clint says, voice quiet. “Who the hell is this?” He holds it in front of Bucky’s face, and Bucky cracks an unwilling eye to read the screen.

_I believe you promised me a list, darling._

“Aw, hell,” Bucky says. “It’s Masque.”

“Why does she have your phone number?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t give it to her.” Bucky forces himself to wake up a little, and fumbles for the phone.

“What list is she talking about?”

“She wants to know if Steve and Tony are together.”

“What? Why?”

“Apparently there’s some kind of supervillain gossip blog, and she wants details on who’s with who in the Avengers.” He opens the message.

“Seriously? There’s a supervillain gossip blog?” He shudders. “That’s…disturbing.”

“Yeah. She thought you and Nat were a thing.”

Clint snickers. “That wouldn’t end well. She’d kill me within a week.”

“That’s generous. I’d give it three days.”

“Maybe twenty-four hours.”

“She’d probably murder you for suggesting it.”

“Probably. So Masque wants to know if Cap and Tony are together?” He hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know, actually. That’s a good question.”

Bucky considers. “I feel like Steve would’ve said something to me,” he says. “He’s not exactly good at keeping secrets. But he’s hard to read sometimes.”

“You know, they _have_ been going off alone on Friday afternoon. Like clockwork, if we’re not on a mission.”

“Oh, yeah.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, and then Clint adds, “And Cap _would_ be the kind of person to schedule sex.”

“Captain Spontaneous he is not.” Bucky rubs his eyes. “Also they sit together during movie nights, have you noticed that? They’re always next to each other on the couch.”

“And at dinners, too, and there was that _thing_ between them the other night at the bar—”

“Yeah, I noticed that too.”

“Oh my god,” Clint says, eyes wide. “Is it true? Are they secretly dating?”

“Steve would call it _going steady_.”

“Yeah, because he’s older than dirt.” Clint grabs the phone. “Let’s ask Nat, I bet she’ll know.” He fires off a quick text. “I mean, she knew about us before we did.”

“She’s not omniscient, Clint.”

“She’s observant. It’s kind of the same thing.” The phone buzzes, and Clint looks at it. “Ha! She said yes!”

“What? Let me see.” Bucky grabs it. “She said ‘ _it’s not your business, Clint._ ’ That’s not a yes.”

“It’s kind of a yes. She’s avoiding the question. Also she knew it was me, which doesn’t lend credence to your ‘not being omniscient’ theory.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Because you text differently than me, dumbass.” He opens Masque’s message and types _How did you get this number?_

_I have my ways._

“Ugh,” Clint says, reading over his shoulder. “How is she creepy even over text?”

“She’s a masked supervillain. I think _creepy_ is in the job description.” He wiggles the phone. “What do we tell her?”

“We could tell her we aren’t sure, but we think so. It _is_ technically the truth.” He snickers. “Or we could fuck with her and send her some wild story about the orgies we all have on Tuesday nights.”

Bucky blushes hard. “I am _not_ telling her that.”

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?”

“Clint!”

“Oh, fine.” Clint holds his hand out, and Bucky gives him the phone. “I’ll just tell her that we don’t know.”

He’s still going after a minute, and Bucky twists to look at it. “Okay, that’s a lot of words for _I don’t know._ ”

“Shush. Let me concentrate.”

“I swear to god if you’re telling her we have orgies—”

“I’m not,” Clint says, flicking his eyes to Bucky. He grins. “Hypothetically, though, if I _was_ telling her that—”

“Give me that,” Bucky interrupts, reaching for the phone. Clint pulls it away. A brief scuffle ensues, which somehow ends with Clint sitting on top of him, Bucky’s left arm trapped and twisted in the blanket, and his other arm pinned under Clint’s knee.

“Ha,” Clint says, looking triumphantly down at him. “Suck it, Barnes.”

“I _let_ you do that,” Bucky protests, although he’s actually not sure how it happened.

“Bullshit. I’m the greatest.” Clint retrieves the phone from under a pillow. “Tell me I’m the greatest.”

“Absolutely not. What are you texting her?”

“I’m telling her that we don’t know, and to stop hitting on my boyfriend.” Clint reverses the phone and shows him. “See?”

Bucky looks at the screen. “Okay.”

He pulls it back and adds something. “And also telling her we have orgies.”

“You—!”

Clint tosses the phone to the side and winks at Bucky. “Too late.”

“You little _shit_ ,” Bucky starts, but then Clint leans forward and kisses him, cutting off the rest of his sentence. The exhaustion is still there, tugging at the edge of his mind, but he finds he doesn’t mind it so much with the way Clint is pressed against him. He lets it slide away in favor of kissing back, a slow, deep thing that’s more of a declaration than any kind of foreplay.

They break apart, finally, and Clint rests his forehead against Bucky’s. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Bucky says, a little fond, a little exasperated. “You’re in a lot of trouble, you know that?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Clint kisses him one more time, then rolls off and untangles Bucky’s arm from the sheet. He starts to get off the bed. “Go to sleep, Buck, and you can kick my ass when you wake up. Sounds good?”

“Gonna spank your ass when I wake up,” Bucky promises, reaching up for him. He snickers at Clint’s little yelp of surprise as Bucky pulls him down, then wraps his metal arm and a leg over him. “Get back here, I didn’t say you could leave.”

“Let me go, you cyborg,” Clint says, pushing against him.

Bucky tightens his grip. “Shut up and hold still.”

Clint snickers, then wriggles back into him until they’re so pressed together that he can’t tell where one starts and the other ends. “Dangerous words,” he says, winding his fingers into Bucky’s. “That’s how this all got started, you know.”

“Mmm.” Bucky kisses his neck. “Stay with me.”

“Always.” Clint squeezes his hand. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Good.” His eyes are already closing, the exhaustion taking over. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Clint murmurs, and Bucky lets sleep pull him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I think this takes second place for weirdest thing I've ever written, but _god_ it was fun. Thanks again to shatteredhourglass for coming up with the initial scene, and to all of you for reading this. As much as I write for my own enjoyment, I also write so that people will read it, and your comments and kudos are what keep me going on every story. Thanks for coming on this journey with me, and just know that I appreciate every single one of you. <3 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


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